Plot Bunny Madness
by SakuraWolf11
Summary: A series of my plot bunnies. Chapter Six Wrong, All Wrong: He knew he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived... He knew. Why wasn't anyone listening to him?
1. Dark Marauders

**AN: If you haven't guessed from the title, this is going to be the first of a series of plot bunnies I'm going to be putting up, some longer than others, also some written with more effort than others. Oh, and just in case the separating lines don't appear again I've bolded the first bits of certain sections.**

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.

Plot Bunny #1

Dark Marauders

_Summary_: One event spurs time to shift; history to change… Four lives are altered, setting each of them down the path of Darkness… A legacy is born, a legend set in motion…

* * *

"**Shut up!** You guys are just stupid idiots! How can you hate someone 'cause they're different?" instantly the boy regretted his words, looking at the surrounding adults fearfully. That fear, however was meshed together with a clearly apparent rebellious anger. Deep black bangs covered the revealing eyes, hiding the flashes of emotion. A moment of silence stretched for centuries, the atmosphere dimming as the sudden shock from the outburst faded. Tension seeped into the air, suffocating any and all polite talk that could have been said to cover up the recent events.

"Mrs. Black, your child is _quite_ frank," the words were spoken smoothly, almost questioningly. Raising an eyebrow an in almost impossibly aristocratic way, a tall man gazed at the boy's mother.

The effect of his gaze was immediate. Mrs. Black quickly adopted a sickening smile on her face, obviously hoping it would help her out of this crisis. "Oh Mr. Malfoy, surely you do not believe this child is mine?" Her voice contained such a noticeably false sense of incredulity that it was hard to believe she was ever known to be cunning. "He is merely…" here she glanced at the boy, her voice filled with disgust, "my nephew. Took him in after my_ dear_ sister perished from that mysterious fire… Yes, only my nephew… Are you still interested in agreeing to have your son marry my eldest daughter?" Satisfaction filled her eyes as she convinced herself to believe her own words, denouncing her eldest child all for the sake of an arranged marriage.

Sneering at the boy standing next to his mother, the pureblood replied, "We shall see, Mrs. Black, we shall see," looking at the female Head of the House of Black he nodded once, tapped his ebony cane on the ground, and with a sharp 'crack' disappeared.

Another moment was pulled taut, lasting as long as it could before it snapped. A dark look entered the older woman's eyes as she glared down at her oldest child. For eight years she had raised him, watched over him, tried to make sure he would be the perfect heir for the Black family, especially after her husband died three years ago. Her insufferable brother, however, saw fit to unravel all of her careful machinations and had started to mold her son into another Light rebel. She would not let it happen, though, and quickly thought of the perfect solution to her problem. Her younger son was showing signs of being a much better son than his brother and would replace the rebellious child quite well. Already her little Regulus was following orders perfectly and hating all that was against the Black family well. All that needed to be done was to get rid of the unwanted being that would ruin her family's prosperity.

A dark smirk appeared on her face, her thoughts flying through her mind as she planned out what to do. "Yes…" she said, a manic gleam shining in her eyes, "you are not my son, only… an _impostor_. The Black family knows _exactly_ what to do with impostors, don't we, _son_?" Taking out a foot long stick from the sleeve of her robe, she waved it at her son, placing a body bind on him and transforming his features to be paler, more angular, and making his hair silky and slightly greasy. Cutting a small slit in her finger with a conjured dagger, she drew a small design on her son's forehead. The image glowed then disappeared, sinking into his skin. Snapping her fingers she called out, "Kreacher!"

With a 'pop' a small wrinkled creature appeared at her side, long ears erect and alert, eyes wide with admiration, thin, bony fingers fidgeting with its rags. "Yes mistress? What is Kreacher to do for mistress?"

Mrs. Black grabbed her son by his shoulder and pulled him toward Kreacher. "Take this _boy_ and replace his clothes more fitting for the _vermin_ he is…" She threw her son to the House Elf. "And be quick about it. I'm taking him to the Ministry in three minutes." Without another word or glance, she walked off to her room to dress in clothes that suited a Head of House making an appearance at the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

"**But-** Mrs. Black, I-"

"Yes, I'm perfectly aware that minors are not _presently_ allowed to be sent to Azkaban, Minister. However, you can certainly change that, right? As the Minister, _surely_ you have the power and influence to change such a law."

"I do have that power, but-"

"Then I see no reason why it cannot be done. My son has been murdered and his identity stolen by this pathetic being who tries to call himself human. How appalled I am to know that for who knows how long I've been living with this disgusting _thing_ I do not know…" sniffing, Mrs. Black let a fake tear slip from her eye. "I do hope you would not let such a crime go unpunished, Minister."

"I'll see what I can do, Mrs. Black…" looking resigned and forlorn, the Minister called on a small group of Aurors to take the eight year old child away. For the first time in the countless centuries of its existence, Azkaban would house a child.

* * *

"**Is** that a child?!"

"Here, kiddie kiddies… Here, kiddie kiddies!"

"Ooh, someone's come to play!"

"Heh, he heh, ha hah, HA"

"The demen-tees should _love_ him…"

Numerous yells, shouts, and other mutterings could be heard as the Auror walked through the cells of Azkaban, leading a young child to his cell. '_What the Ministry has come to,_' he thought, '_for children to be convicted and sent to Azkaban_…' However, looking at the boy walking behind him and seeing no fear, no sadness, just about no emotion at all the Auror could almost believe such a child could kill another boy. The goodness within him called out to reject such thoughts but it could not fully succeed. Reaching the cell the older man took out a key and unlocked the door, the magical wards recognizing the object and opening the old rusted bars. The boy calmly walked inside and the door shut itself, the wards reasserting themselves along the exterior of the cell. Shaking his head sadly, the Auror left, leaving the young child to its fate.

Soon the Dementors arrived, eager to inspect their new prey left by the arrogant humans who thought they could pass judgment upon their own race. Their blind faces looked for the new source of happiness and warmth that was supposed to be now locked within the cell, their new source of food to live off of. Thin, bony, withered hands reached through the bars, disabling parts of the wards and allowing the dark creatures to float into the cell. Unfeeling fingers felt for that common pool of positive feelings that all humans possessed. Long, dark, ragged cloaks covered their forms and rippled as more Dementors arrived, causing a small gush of wind to flow by.

However, none of them could find that pool of happiness. None of them could sense that warmth even the cruelest of their prisoners held. The cell was bursting with Dementors, raspy clicks, sighs, and hisses filling the air as they communicated with each other, confusion and frustration filling their senses. There was no food in this cell where there should be, no light their darkness could extinguish. It was stressful and curious at the same time, the creatures assaulted with a situation they had never faced before. All the while the child sat in the corner of his cell on the ratty mattress he was given, watching the huge beings swirl around him with something akin to curiosity in his eyes though it was considerably dimmed by the unfeeling emptiness that prevailed his being.

Suddenly, silence filled the cell and half of the Dementors flew through the walls and left. A pathway was left, from the door to the child, and the other Dementors seemed to almost kneel along it as they floated in the air. The child looked down the pathway, through the bars of his cell to see another Dementor approaching. While obviously a Dementor, this one was different. The robe was clean and pure black, unlike the ragged dark grey of the others. This Dementor floated like the others, but with a grace instead of the eerie suspense the others gave off. Lastly, the biggest difference between this Dementor and the rest was that while it wore a hood, this Dementor had a face that could clearly be seen. At least, the child could see it. He had only vaguely heard of Dementors before, but he had never heard of a Dementor with a _face_, nor had he heard of a Dementor with a _female_ face like this one had; long black hair, slightly angled eyes, long eyelashes, a thin mouth and pale skin… The eyes were pure black and contained no white, the lips were pure black as well, and the only white on her being was her skin. The image captured the boy's attention and he found himself unable to keep from staring at her. Her mouth opened, no teeth but a deep black hole, and the same raspy sounds came out like the other Dementors, but in his head the boy heard a voice calling out to him,

"Child… child…"

"…_yes?" _he replied, hoping his thoughts would travel back.

"Young child, I sense no warmth within you, no happy memory to call your own. Inside your soul I sense a deep darkness filled with frustration, anger, and despair… It is beautiful and alluring to find such a soul in one so young. Tell me, will you be my child?" The Dementor reached out a smooth, pale white hand, and caressed the boy's cheek. Her touch was like ice; painfully cold yet it burned at the same time. A tear fell from the boy's eyes and as it reached her hand it froze.

Staring deep into the Dementor's ebony eyes, the boy whispered, "Yes."

* * *

"**What?** _Another_ child? You want me to bring another little boy to _**Azkaban**_?!" the Auror was overwhelmed and practically threw his disbelief at his superior. It had only been a few months since the first boy had been taken in.

"Sadly, yes, but this child is definitely a murderer. Found right in the middle of the crime scene and confessed right away,"

Looking down at the small child standing next to his superior, the Auror was surprised to find the boy looked a lot alike the other boy. He had the same pale complexion, the long black hair with a slightly greasy look, thin fingers and dark eyes. In those eyes, however, was not the emptiness of the other boy's eyes, but a deep sadness and guilt that stabbed the Auror's heart. The small child looked up at the older man, and the Auror was surprised to feel tendrils of natural Legilimency. Suddenly, an onslaught of memories struck his mind.

A woman smiled sadly down at him, a tear escaping her eyes. "Honey, your father is not the same one you have right now. Mommy made a mistake and left your real father for the one you have now. Your real father was… special and it seems you're special too. Don't let your other father know, okay?"

The scene changed, the same woman hugging him. "It's okay, everything's okay, honey," Over her shoulder he could see the corpse of a dead rabbit, torn into pieces. "It's not your fault, honey, you're just special…"

Again, the scene changed the corpse now a dead woman, her brown hair spread out across her face and her body torn like the rabbit's. Bloody hands were held up to his face. They were **his** hands. Soon, the hands began to shake. Suddenly, he looked over his shoulder and saw the other woman again. For a moment she was shocked, and then her face turned to the same sadness he had seen multiple times before. She slowly walked up to him and hugged him like she had before, tears streaming down her face.

Then, the scene changed another time, this time crashes being heard. He was in a bedroom of some sorts, the crashes coming from a short distance away. He left the room, following the crashes. Soon he entered a living room, the woman from before cowering on the ground. Towering above her was a man with light brown hair and light eyes darkened with anger. "How **dare** you trick me you piece of filth!" he bellowed, "All of these years I've been raising some beast that's not even mine? How could you?" He took a nearby vase and slammed it down on the woman. The broken pieces of the vase scattered around the woman, joining other pieces of wood and glass mingling with the woman's blood. Seeing the blood sparked an odd feeling within him, urging him to let it out, let it loose on this mortal who **dared** to harm his mother.

Abruptly the Auror was back in his own mind, suddenly aware of his superior worriedly asking after his condition. "I'm okay…" he said, his voice shaken and disconnected. Shaking his head he cleared his mind, looking down at the child with pity in his eyes. His pitiful look seemed to have the opposite effect he was hoping for, however, as the child's eyes turned dark with some negative emotion the Auror could not name and the boy looked away. Sighing, he took the boy's hand from his superior and headed out to the dark prison that could turn the strongest minds insane.

**

* * *

Once** again walking down the small dark hallways, the yells and mutterings were fewer as the Auror brought the new child into Azkaban to join the other one. Surprisingly they both had the same calm demeanor even as the soul-and-happiness-sucking Dementors floated by them. The Dementor-repelling Patronus the Auror had cast might have helped, but he suspected the child would have been fine without its Light presence. He was still dazed from the memories that had been thrust at him, still shocked that the young boy walking next to him was a natural at using the Mind Arts only a few adults could claim to have mastered. Not only was he still marveling at the boy's unconscious skill, he was still overwhelmed by what he had seen. All of the various murders… and only one had been discovered by the authorities. That one brunette woman looked familiar to the Auror… He made a mental note to find out who she was and tell her family members of her death.

At last the Auror and the small child had reached the cell of the Black 'impostor', and the older man was glad he could finally get away from the horror of murderous children. The thought, no, the fact that the supposed embodiments of innocence that were children could turn out so dark was tearing at the Auror's mind, adding to the inescapable guilt at leaving mere children _here_. Opening the door of the cell the same way he had just a few months before, he let who he now called the 'Mind' child into the cell. In the back of the cell, like how he had left him months before, was the 'Black' child, sitting quietly on the tattered mattress. The 'Mind' child stayed right inside the doorway, the two children staring at each other silently, almost intensely. After standing outside the cell for a few awkward moments as the two children assessed each other from afar, the Auror sighed and left. As he left he noticed that no Dementors were in the children's hallway, much less near the cell.

Back in the cell the two children were still staring at each other, the 'Mind' child standing near the cell door, the 'Black' child sitting on the old mattress. The 'Black' child wore his ever present emotionless face, and the 'Mind' child had subtle traces of surprise throughout his features of blank, impassive apathy. As the 'Mind' child lifted his foot to take a step forward he abruptly halted, feeling the presence of the cold, consuming fear the Dementors emanated. Frozen in place, the newest member of Azkaban waited as a dark robed figure floated into the cell and circled him. Tendrils of pure cold seeped into the child's skin, the other boy calmly watching from a distance. Not outwardly showing any difference in emotion, the child gazed at the Dementor that was now floating right in front of him, seemingly gazing back. The Dementor lifted its hand, moving it towards the child's face when a small, quiet, practically nonexistent whisper echoed throughout the cell.

"Wait," was all that was said, and all that needed to be said for the Dementor to drop its hand and move to the farthest corner of the cell. Getting up from his perch on the mattress, the 'Black' child slowly walked toward the other child. As the boy approached the slightly younger child, a sad look entered his eyes. He could sense the small amount of fear the child was unwilling to show due to the first of many later 'gifts' his new 'mother' had given him. Standing where the Dementor used to be, the boy said "You're safe,"

A short, calculating look was given in reply, and then the 'Mind' child asked, "Why?"

"Because… you remind me of me,"

"Do you know what I am?"

"Does it matter?"

Here the 'Mind' child gave a small smile, and the 'Black' child had to remind the Dementor in the cell to stay way as the child was giving off a small amount of pure happiness. The child was reminiscing about one of the last things his mother had told him.

"Honey, you have a… guardian inside of you, a sprite that is a part of you and is you. It's what made your real father and you special. The sprite is there to protect you, and to protect the one you care about most. Right now it wants to protect me, but soon it will have to find someone new to protect. Be careful, honey, and make sure you choose a good person for it to protect for your sprite will be bound to protect that person as long as they live with you bound as well. That person will help you teach the sprite right from wrong, and I'm sorry that all I've shown your sprite is violence from your other father. I trust you to be smart, honey, and I know you will take care of your sprite. Just remember, the sprite is not you, so don't let it rule your mind, but at the same time the sprite is you, so don't neglect it either. You are a Prince, in more than just name and blood. You are a Prince of the Fae of Fate, the son of Eileen, and I know the Lords of All are with you."

When his mother had died from that blow his other father had dealt her, he fully realized what his mother had meant. Something inside him had cried out, pulled at his soul to avenge her and he had been too weak to control it. His sprite had awakened with no leash to rein it in and had uncontrollably sought revenge. The result was the decimated body of his father, which he had yet to regret, and his current residence in Azkaban. Now, however, he had found someone that he felt a connection with, a familiarity none had ever possessed. Maybe it was due to the fact that they were both children in a prison for murderers and worse, or maybe it had to do with their eerily similar looks, but either way he had found someone like him who would understand who and what he was and not fear him for it, and not resent him for it either.

Taking a chance for the first time in his as of yet short life, he knelt down on one knee and looked up at the other boy. "May I be your guardian?"

* * *

"**She's**… She's dead?" the Auror regretted volunteering to be the one who told this man his wife was killed by a child, but being the only one alive who saw what happened through that child's memories he had felt he was obligated to. The sadness and disbelief in the man's eyes were almost too much to bear, but he could handle it after bringing two children to a place worse than the Devil's lair itself. He felt a pang of sadness shoot through his heart as he saw the man collapse into a chair, a dejected look in his eyes. What hurt the most was see the man's son, the same age as the other two boys, standing in a doorway across the room, shocked and speechless. The deed being done, he opened the door to leave, saying "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Lupin" and left the famed Werewolf Hunter to mourn the loss of his Muggle wife.

_**

* * *

Crash**_**!** Another bottle thrown at the wall, the broken pieces of glass joining the growing pile on the floor. "Boy! Come bring me another beer!" Ever since his mother's death, 'boy' had become his name, his sole purpose in life to bring his father more beer for him to drown his sorrows in. Everyday was the same, so was every night, and every afternoon. Another bottle thrown at the wall, another bottle brought to his father, and the cycle repeated itself. The renowned Werewolf Hunter brought down to lowly alcoholic who could no longer recognize a pillow from a bear, much less recognize his son. Every day he would bring his father his hourly beer and then escape to the surrounding woods, running away from his miserable life for at least a while.

That night, unbeknownst to him, was the night of the full moon, the night his father would lock the windows, the doors, would even lock the chimney and pipes. However, the boy did not remember what night that night was, did not know its importance, and had gone out to the woods to celebrate his eighth birthday beneath the stars and with the trees. Traveling to his favorite spots, climbing trees, exploring caves, and following streams, the child visited all of his friends that came out at night. He visited the owls of the area; he saw the snakes and the mice. But tonight, he could not find the coyotes that often played in the small meadow near the square boulder, or the foxes that ran through the brush under the pine trees. In the air the wind rustled the branches, and a still silence overcame the forest. It was then he knew something was wrong.

Above the trees and along the breeze a howl rang through the air. A gripping fear clenched the young boy's heart as he remembered all of his father's tales. All of the stories of the days when he would search for the canines that enveloped human forms, those beings that morphed beast with man, all of them came back to him. Off to the south he could hear the rustling of leaves and the snapping of branches. Werewolves; the word reverberated throughout the child's mind as he began to race back home, following every shortcut his frenzied mind could think of. He jumped through trees, shot through tunnels, and raced along the foliage, hoping to reach home. Behind him, following him, approaching closer and closer were the sounds of a predator hunting its prey. The familiar view passed him by, and he ran and ran until he could finally see his home out in the distance.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he shot out across the last meadow in front of his home. As he reached the center of the meadow the full moon shot a spotlight down upon him, then his world shattered. An explosion of colors invaded his vision as an enormous shot of pain erupted from his right shoulder. Flashes of his vision came back to him but it was full of a deep, dark, red that he knew sprang from the source of his pain. He could feel something spreading throughout his body, battling for dominance and sovereignty of his consciousness. The very blood in his body boiled and froze at the same time. Deep in his core the biggest battle in this war of self raged on. The boy could sense his very soul dueling for its existence and his magic struggling to survive. Crying out in a primitive yell of pain, the world turned black.

**

* * *

Opening **his eyes, the first thing the boy noticed was that the full moon was no longer in the sky and he was on the ground. Smells rushed into his nostrils, sounds crowded into his ears, and everything looked so different it was like he had been reborn. There was strength in his limbs not even his extensive training as Hunter had given him. He could sense a speed his legs would give him if he sprinted right at that moment that would let him outpace all of his forest friends, even the deer. Of all the new things he was experiencing, he heard a confrontation going on near him.

A blow was heard hitting flesh. "How _could_ you, you mongrel!" the voice almost growled the words, a fierce anger ringing through the yell.

"Forgive me, I-" the voice sounded quite like a dog's whine.

Another blow, "I don't want to hear your excuses! You _never_, and I mean _never_ turn children! Especially unwillingly,"

"He just, he just smelled so _good_! Plus he's that Hunter's son…"

There was the sound of something flying through the air, slamming into a nearby tree. The boy was sure he caught the sound of several bones breaking. "Didn't I tell you I didn't want to hear excuses? It doesn't matter whose son that boy is. You've passed judgment on his life and gave him ours, acting like some God! Look what you've-" At that moment the boy couldn't help the sound of his stomach growling. That sound, however, caught the attention of the two other men, beings, whatever they were who had been fighting earlier. The larger of the two, a dark brown haired man (if he was a man) was holding the other, a blonde, and promptly dropped the blonde to rush to the boy's side. Dropping the blonde had also knocked the blonde out, though the child could hear his breathing. The onslaught of smells, sounds, and sights, was soon becoming a little too much to bear.

Right in front of the boy, distracting him from his new senses, was a pair of strikingly amber eyes filled with worry. "Oh, poor cub, are you okay?" The previously growling voice was now velvety and smooth. Silently, the boy nodded. "Where's your home, little one?" Lifting one arm with a grace that almost startled him, he pointed at the lodge that was at the other end of the meadow. Swiftly the large brunette man picked him up, a sensation the boy had not felt since his mother died, and carried him over to the lodge. Several feet away from the lodge the man set him down and told him to go on home.

Still slightly disoriented from all the various events that had just occurred, the boy obediently walked towards his home, still not realizing he had just been attacked and then helped by Werewolves. He reached his home, and tried to open the door. However, the moment he touched the doorknob he felt his skin start to burn and jerked his hand back. His fingers were green for a moment and then returned to their normal color, the pain fading away. Faintly, the boy could hear an alarm going off and was startled when he heard glass breaking, a rustling of clothes, and then the sound of his father's rifle being loaded. Dread began to fill the boy's soul as he started to understand what had happened. Silently he prayed to whatever higher power existed out there that his father would recognize him and let him inside.

The door burst open and he saw his father standing there, a drunken stupor in those dark eyes and a fully loaded rifle in practiced hands. The boy's heart began to race, and he warily eyed the rifle, scared at how he could sense the potent silver in each bullet. "Father…" he said nervously, "it's me, your son. Remember?" He knew his skin looked white as snow when he saw his father glare.

"I see no son of mine! I see a beast!" Cocking the rifle and drunkenly trying to find the trigger, the boy saw his father aim the gun straight at his heart.

'Boom' and the gun went off.

**

* * *

The boy** could feel the wind in his hair and felt calm warmth surrounding him. His eyes were closed and he felt like he was awake and sleeping at the same time. '_This must be what death feels like_' he thought to himself, sighing sadly.

"Are you okay, little one?" the voice startled him, and he opened his eyes. There, holding the boy in his arms was the large brunette man, a bleeding scratch across his right cheek. The scratch was ugly, blackened and slowly oozing blood. "Those bullets are packed with silver, aren't they? I'm lucky you did some accidental magic there 'because you made the bullet go astray. Which is actually quite fascinating as most werewolves don't keep their magic after being turned, and I'm babbling again," the man, wolf, whatever gave a small laugh. Around them the boy couldn't recognize his surroundings, having never gone too far away from home before. Noticing the boy looking around, the werewolf said, "I'm taking you to my pack, little one. You're one of us now, I apologize for that, and I can't leave you alone now. I especially can't leave you with a father who would abandon his son so." All of the recent events came back to the boy and a tear left his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry! Are you okay?" He nodded, burying his face into the man's chest. "Don't worry, little one, you're safe. No more nasty humans to hurt you here. My name is Gaius (guy-us), and you will be my heir."

* * *

"**My lord**, a missive has arrived from Alpha Gaius."

"Really? That werewolf hasn't contacted me in years, not since he decided to make a bet on how many people Grindlewald would kill until someone killed him. I'll bet he has some other trivial contest he wishes me to engage in," the vampire lord sipped his wine, freshly boiled with serpent's blood and cooled to perfection. Opening the missive the lord's sapphire eyes sped across the crudely written words becoming increasingly interested in his immortal friend's news. As he finished the missive and his wine he snapped his fingers, allowing the two servants who appeared to take away the paper and his cup. He leaned back in his soft, lush, throne-like chair, and stared at his sharp nails as he thought about what he had read. It seemed Gaius had picked up a magical werewolf as his heir, and that would certainly raise his pack's status among many werewolf circles. While werewolves did go on a strongest-is-leader-type hierarchy, most Alphas had the power and resources to train their heir to inherit their role as Alpha, and most succeeded. However, what the vampire lord cared about was a century-long, (possibly longer) 'game' he and Gaius were playing with each other, seeing which of the two could rise higher in their circles and which could possibly even usurp sovereignty over their kind, even if neither kind had a monarchy to speak of.

"I will not be outdone," the lord stated, and set off to find himself his own magical heir.

**

* * *

Traveling **through the shadows of Magical Britain, the vampire lord searched for a child powerful enough to be worthy of a place as his heir and with a strong enough will to survive that could help the child retain their magical ability. As he passed through London he sensed it. He sensed the perfect child to be his heir. The right amount of pure power and enough life that will grasp the child's magic. Now all he had to do was convince the child to be his heir… This was going to be interesting.

Materializing out of the shadows in a dark alley, (a skill only _Lords_ possess), the vampire lord walked out into an equally dark street. Cloaked in a thick, dark robe he hid his face and dimmed his aura so as not to frighten any of the mortals. If any of them would actually be able to sense him, that is. Looking around the street he saw beggars, hoodlums, pathetic forms of human life that was dreary even in non-magical terms. That such beings existed in Magical Britain was saddening, but that was reality. Again, inspecting the street that seemed void of that spark of life he was looking for, he wondered where he would find his heir. Letting enough of his aura seep out so that the mortals around him knew to back off he began his search.

First he browsed each store, hoping that he wouldn't take too long and miss his heir. As he reached the entryway to the street it got brighter and the vampire lord could see a bright, lively street just yards away. He was about to enter one of the last stores he had yet to search when a small figure brushed past him, running out the door towards the brighter street. He found him. The moment the small figure, a mortal boy, had touched him he had known it was who he was looking for. The telltale purity of childhood innocence couldn't be faked, nor could you fake an unbreakable will to live that prevailed over all emotions. Swiftly, he moved to follow the boy.

Carefully adjusting his robe to block the sun from reaching his eyes he stepped out into the brighter street. As a vampire lord, the equivalent of a wizard noble in mortal terms, his skin was not as sensitive to the sun as other weaker vampires were, but his eyes as all vampires' eyes were severely vulnerable to the sun. Of course he was immortal to physical realms of injury and disease, but it didn't make the burning of one's eyes any less painful. Slipping on mortal sunglasses, a humorous but useful gift from Gaius a few decades ago, the vampire lord was able to gaze out at the bright street without worry. The street or 'Diagon Alley' as he just discovered it was called was teeming with mortals, and it took quite a bit of effort for the lord to refrain from both wanting to suck some of these mortals dry and annihilating them from his presence. Ignoring the mass of walking food before him, he looked for his heir and easily found him. Amusingly and irritatingly at the same time his heir was being scolded by his parents.

"What were you doing, young man?" admonished the boy's mother. The boy gave no reply, instead opting to stare at his shoes, a book clutched in his arms.

"James Potter you better answer your mother right now," warned his father. At this silent threat the boy slightly flinched, barely noticeable even for those looking for it.

'So James was his heir's name…' thought the vampire.

"I was just- I wanted…" he trailed off, still not looking at his parents. "I wanted to get a book," he answered weakly.

"So you went into that nest of darkness for a book?" his mother asked incredulously, staring at her son with obvious confusion and frustration in her eyes.

His father snatched the book out of the boy's arms, proclaiming, "Well you are surely not going to keep this," without further warning the older man made the book disappear, glaring at his son. "For your punishment you can do the rest of the shopping yourself." Putting a small clinking bag into the saddened boy's hands, the two parents left. As soon as they disappeared the boy shoved the bag into his pocket and stalked right back towards the dark street.

The vampire lord stepped back into an even darker alley, the entrance of the alley near the entrance of the dark street. As his heir passed the entrance he reached out and brought the boy into the dark alley. The boy had quick reflexes, possibly from training, and had flipped out his wand almost immediately. However the lord was faster than the mortal boy and had snatched the wand away, one arm wrapped around the boy's waist, the other closing his mouth. He could have easily immobilized the boy with his own powers, but he wanted the boy to still believe he could escape. Using the hand around his heir's mouth to lean the small head back he let the boy see his smile, revealing a two pairs of exceptionally long and sharp teeth. The amber eyes of his heir widened. "Ah, so you know what I am?" the boy nodded, though the lord knew that even the non-magical mortals would have guessed what he was. "Then you should know better than to struggle," purposefully he loosed his hold on the boy's mouth.

Predictably the boy maneuvered his mouth free from the lord's hand. "My parents will come and save me, you monster! They're the Lightest and strongest Aurors around," instead of fear, defiance flashed in the boy's eyes. The vampire loved those with a strong will, and he also loved breaking false ideals about those mortals called 'Light'.

"_I_ am the monster, you say? How about we have a bet?" he also _really_ loved bets, "I will make you look, smell, practically make all of you _seem_ like a vampire and send you on home. I'll let you run back to your mommy and daddy with a little disguise any 'strong' Auror should be able to get rid of. I won't _actually_ turn you into a vampire. You understand so far?" his heir nodded, though his eyes held traces of confusion and distrust, "Then, if your parents get rid of the disguise and take you in, you win. You'll never see me again." Hope entered the boy's eyes, "However," the hope dimmed, "if your parents _don't_ see through the disguise and reject you, I win. You'll never see your parents again and you will become my heir. Deal?" Watching his heir, the lord was amused to see a calculating look enter the child's eyes.

"How will I know you won't actually turn me?" Ah, so his heir was smart too.

Without replying the lord took one of his sharp nails and cut his finger. Using a single drop of blood he used his magic to turn it into a ring. "I swear on all that I am that I will not fully turn you into a vampire until our deal is settled." The ring glowed for a moment, and then solidified to resemble marble. He held out the ring to his heir, "Satisfied?" The boy thought for a moment, weighing the chances of accepting the bet and possibly turning into a vampire and leaving his parents, or immediately being sucked dry. Nodding, he took the ring and placed it on a conjured chain, hanging it around his neck. He wouldn't trust the ring enough to actually put it on his finger. The lord nodded, accepting his heir's caution, and held out his arm. "Grab my arm and I'll take you to your home. Your little disguise may take a bit of power out of me so it's best I transport you first." The boy grabbed his arm, and imagined his home.

**

* * *

James **looked up at his house, wincing in slight pain as he craned his neck. The vampire had cut him with one of his sharp nails and whispered some words in a language the boy couldn't understand, but he believed whatever the vampire had done had worked. On the inside he felt exactly the same, sensing the presence of his magical core and could still hear his heart beating, still feeling the warmth it spread throughout his body. On the outside, though, he knew he looked and felt completely different. His hands were pale, almost as light as his house's white fence, and were thinner than before. He had wanted to look into a mirror and see what his face looked like, but no reflection had appeared and only the fearful hammering of his heart had reassured him that he was still mortal. The slight, coppery taste of blood lingered in his mouth from when he pricked his tongue with his new sharp canines. Small cuts were on the palms of his hands from his now sharpened fingernails. It was dark that night but he could see an ethereal glow coming from his skin and everything was clear to his eyes, not a single shadow hiding something from his view.

With each step he took along the pathway to his door, doubts began to creep into his mind. He had been so sure, so certain when the vampire had suggested the bet to him, had complete confidence that his parents would see through the disguise and welcome him back home. After all, his parents were known as very powerful Light wizards. They were both Aurors and as such had captured many Dark Wizards when Grindlewald had threatened the European magical community. There was no way a mere disguise would cloud their strong magical senses. All of those labels and titles had been placed upon his parents, and in turn been placed upon him, and had reassured him every time he had a nightmare when he was little. Even as he was older those same titles had made him secure of his safety. Now, though, now he was beginning to doubt that certainty. His extremely Light parents had always been exceptionally intolerant of anything darker than a unicorn, and had drilled that into their son. Whenever he would ask about why werewolves were called evil or ask about why Black Magic was called 'Dark' he was quickly interrogated on his reasons for such a question and told not to talk about such 'bad' things. Each time he did something that wasn't something the 'perfect child of the perfect Potters' would do his parents would look at him with a well of disappointment in their eyes. Fear started to gather in his mind as he got closer to the front door.

Steeling his human emotions for the upcoming confrontation, his mortal heart once again hammering at his chest, the wizard knocked on his front door, knowing he would be severely punished if he entered the house unannounced; even if it was his own house. Each second that passed as he waited tore at his resolve, nervousness causing sweat to gather at his brow. If he wasn't so scared he would have laughed when the sweat drops began to freeze upon his skin. Anxiously he brushed away the cold sweat, fighting the urge to fidget in front of the door. Then, nearly stopping his heart, the door opened, revealing the sight of his mother. His heart did stop when her worried gaze turned frightful, a shrieking yelp escaping her lips and causing her to clutch her own heart. Amazingly he could hear her frantic heartbeat, see each of her frenzied movements as she stood frozen in the door way.

A short distance away he heard his father inquire after his mother's condition, footsteps following his mother's and reaching the doorway. Unlike his mother, his father's worried eyes turned hateful, and the larger man gently pushed the shocked woman behind him. Grabbing the smaller boy's shirt and yanking him forward, almost lifting him off the ground, his father's hateful glare caused his world to freeze, the following words to shatter it. "Who are you and what have you done with my son, beast?" the last word was spat in his face, the spit almost immediately starting to freeze.

"I, I am your son, father," the words were stuttered weakly, fear running through his mouth, eyes locked on his father's angered ones.

Surprisingly, his father gave a short, bitter laugh, "No son of mine is a _monster_, a **vampire**! Get out of here!" without any further comment his father threw him back onto the pathway and shut the door. The fallen boy could practically feel every locking spell that was shouted at the dear, obviously meant for him to hear.

His mind reeled with the betrayal of his father and the lack of protest from his mother. Pulse still racing through his veins from seeing his father's eyes so full of hate directed at him, he thought his heart would never slow down. '_This couldn't be happening,_' he thought to himself. Everything he had done in his life, from the moment he was born, no, even before then, was for his parents. His whole life bent on being molded into his parents' perfect, little Light soldier. All of those lessons focused on pureblood etiquette, politics, even war strategy. Each and every single grueling dueling lesson that included weaponry, martial arts, and magic theory (not old enough for a wand yet) that he labored through, gaining various cuts, scars, and bruises he knew no other normal child supposedly _loved_ by their parents would ever have. Every ball he had ever attended meeting boys who would be future _allies_ and girls that may be his future wife, all of those balls that annoyed him to no end but suffered through for his parents, all was for naught. The foundations of his life were crumbling down around him, and the mounting despair was quickly reversing into anger, into a hate for every memory of every hurt he had endured to be all his parents wanted, each pain he lived with to fulfill every one of their wishes, all the sacrifices he had given to succeed in every task they gave him. He had no childhood to remember except the faces of all those he knew did have one.

A rustle of wind behind him told him the vampire lord had arrived. Getting off the ground with as much grace as he could, he brushed the dirt off his robes and walked down the pathway past the edge of the house's grounds. Just outside the white picket fence that he had painted for _stamina_ when he was _six_, he reached the lord. Looking up at the vampire, he said, "You win," and exposed his neck for the vampire.

The vampire lord chuckled, "No, little one, I already did my part of the transformation. For it to be complete _you _have to bite _me_," then, he kneeled down in front of the smaller boy. Looking straight into the boy's eyes he asked, "Are you sure about this?"

He started to nod, but stopped. "I have one question," the lord nodded at him, "may I call you Father?"

For the first time something other than calculated amusement entered the vampire lord's eyes, something the boy knew was surprise. Then, the amusement returned, lined with an emotion he had never seen in his parent's eyes but in many others'. It was pride. "Yes, you can."

With that admission he grasped the lord's broad shoulders and bit down on the lord's neck, entering a new life as the heir to a vampire lord.

**

* * *

A man **entered a stone-walled room, his clean black robes standing out in the room's dreary gloom. "My lord, the British Minister has sent some of his personnel to speak with the Mistress."

"Thank you, Steward Bones," answered a substantially younger voice, "you may escort them here," concluded the soft, flat voice.

As the steward left another soft voice erupted through the room's silence, carrying a tinge of negativity in its tone. "Master," the question was stated, not asked. A nod followed, "the British Minister's cowardice is insulting."

A pause, "You may elaborate,"

"By deciding not to arrive in person the Minister is revealing his fear, a fear fueled by an ignorant prejudice aimed at any and all other sentient beings that aren't called humans. However, the Minister is justifying his fear by trying to portray that we are not worthy of his presence. Each reason is just as insulting as the other, to both you and Mother." Deep black eyes glittered with anger at this slight to his superiors. While the Mistress was only the mother of his Master, as his master's servant he was allowed to address the Mistress as Mother. He knew his Master didn't view him as a servant but as something more and less at the same time. He would always disagree with his Master on that issue but he would never protest either.

The Lady Dementor's heir nodded to his pet. In truth, that was what the other boy was to the Black child. The other child contained less worth than his new Mother but was much more than a petty servant. Also his pet was very similar to what a pet would be to someone. He was loyal to the extent of his care and skilled to the extent of his training. Unfortunately his pet could only train himself but was quickly coming along. He could already read others' minds through eye contact, and was fast mastering reading others' minds through their words and actions. Pet, as he was called by the Dementor heir, was also learning what emotions were and how to portray them, even if he wasn't feeling them himself. Black Death, as his Mother had dubbed him, was more familiar with some of the emotions but neither had experienced nor faced most of them before. Now both knew how to fake them. Pet could also project images into another's mind, but this was, at the moment, limited to his pet's own memories, altered in various ways. Pure conjured images were as of yet beyond him.

It was interesting to watch his pet practice on the various prisoners here; most of them very willing as it gave them a break from the Dementors. The 'volunteers' had given the two boys nicknames in return, Pet called 'Death's Serpent' and the elder boy called 'Grim' and 'Life Eater'. Both of Black's names were equally common, but the latter had struck insane laughter from half of the prisoners and had since then become the favorite nickname.

**

* * *

At the** prison's entrance Steward Bones had reached the visitors. There were three people there: two Aurors and the Minister's assistant. The assistant, a small, frail looking man, was trembling in fear. It was a miracle his legs hadn't given out on him or that he hadn't fainted yet. The two Aurors were perfectly calm, even though both had their wands out and the elder one was glaring at everything he saw.

"Gentleman," the steward called out, "welcome to Azkaban," he waved out an arm to the general surroundings, all of the Dementors having been sent to higher floors so as not to bother today's 'guests'.

As the guests turned to look at the steward, the Auror's expressions turned to incredulity and disbelief. "Mr. Bones?" cried out the young Auror, her voice practically shrieking with how it echoed off the walls.

"_Steward_ Bones, actually, now let us move on as my Mistress is waiting," he turned around back toward the other room, moving to leave. It was expected for the Aurors to recognize him; after all, he had been one of them himself two years ago, and a pretty good one at that. After he had sent two young boys to suffer at the dark, wrinkled hands of Dementors he had lost his drive for his former passion. He had spent a whole year slowly losing the novelty of catching 'bad guys' and throwing them in jail. He had lost his love for being a 'hero' for the Wizarding world. His girlfriend didn't even notice the change in him, and any chance of her noticing vanished when her sister died, leaving behind a young daughter. Right after he had a fight with her about taking care of the child he received a letter inviting him to become a steward for the very same boys he had sent to Hell on Earth, to live in the very same place they were in. He had accepted mindlessly, wanting to get away from everything and hoping to see the two children. Over the year of growing gloom he had begun to worry more and more about the boys, and was surprised and unexpectedly happy to learn they were both perfectly fine in Azkaban. The steward's wandering thoughts ended abruptly as he noticed he hadn't moved anywhere, the female Auror's hand grasping his shoulder.

The Auror's fury laced her every word, "Wait one second, Mr. Bones. For two whole years you've been missing. Everyone's about to believe you're dead if they haven't already decided you were. Amelia –you remember your _girlfriend_, right– nearly killed herself since you disappeared after you two had a fight. Did you hear me? Almost _**killed**_ herself and you've just been playing Butler to Dementors?" Again, shrieking. He wasn't even sure if this girl was an Auror when he was still in the service; he surely didn't remember her at all.

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Again it's Steward Bones, miss…" he looked at her Auror badge, "Abbot and I'm saddened to hear about Amelia. However, we can talk about my past later as I have said before, my Mistress is waiting," Steward Bones repressed another sigh as the older Auror stopped him, again, from leaving.

"Now John –I won't be using none of that 'Steward' crap either– before we go anywhere, who exactly _is_ this 'Mistress' you keep on yapping about? The Minister told us to just get some Dementors and go. I knew it wouldn't be that easy, you can't exactly go ordering Dementors around, but what in Magic's crap are you doin' here callin' yourself some Steward-whatever?" the Auror who had spoken was a grown man, though slightly short and stocky. On his face and unseen under his robes the man was well on his way to smothering his skin with battle scars. One of his eyes had a patch on it; having recently lost the eye subduing one of Grindlewald's last lingering followers even if it had been decades since his reign.

"Ah, Alastor, ever the cautious one… Well, you see, my Mistress is the mother of all the Dementors in Azkaban," with those last few words the Steward stalked off toward where his lords were before any of the visitors could resist.

When the four people reached the chamber Alastor was the first to speak.

"Well, John, I never knew you had kids…" Death and Serpent, the names Steward Bones had penned on the boys after hearing one of the various nicknames the prisoners were throwing around, were at a desk at the far end of the stone room. Granted, the room wasn't that large, but was large enough so that Death could be sitting at the desk, Serpent sitting on the floor in front of the desk, with a considerable amount of space for the adults to stand in comfortably. Death hadn't even spared the guests a glance yet, writing on a piece of parchment transfigured from a rock found outside the prison. Both boys had been intelligent enough before their arrest to know how to read and write, but both skills required practice and further training, something some of the prisoners volunteered to help with to gain more time away from the Dementors. Most of the prisoners were starting to like the boys' presences, barring the insane, the halfway dead, and the incredibly cruel people who actually deserved the excruciating torture they received each day.

Quickly Steward Bones conjured up some chairs before addressing Alastor's statement. "Please sit. I assure you, Alastor, that neither of the boys is mine. Guests, please allow me to introduce to you my lords Black Death and Serpent," he opted not to use Death's name for Serpent, as a name like 'Pet' might cause alarms to go off for the Aurors present.

Abbot was not impressed. "What are _children_ doing in Azkaban, Bones?"

"I'm sure if you look through the poorly organized records you'll find two accounts of arrest for a minor, the sentence ending in a life sentence in Azkaban." He was smiling at Abbot, though the smile was a grim, dark one, "Black Death is also my Mistress' heir," he further explained.

"And why isn't he a Dementor, then?" stuttered the assistant.

"That happens after death, if he fails to become the next Lord Dementor." What was lovely about this whole encounter was that nothing the visitors would learn here could ever be revealed to anyone who didn't already know what they were going to tell them. That included speaking, writing, and even through their thoughts and memories. All courtesy of a special ward he had helped his Mistress design that was powered by the prisoners' bound magic. In short, unless all the prisoners died, left, or were stripped of their magic, everything that happened here, stayed there. That is, unless he let them tell someone else… though that person would automatically be put under the same restrictions. The shock and anger on each of the visitors' faces would have been priceless if he had told them about the ward but that wasn't as funny as letting them be oblivious until later.

"So where's this Mistress of yours?"

"Since your Minister decided not to _grace_ us with his presence, the Mistress will not grace you with hers," comically the visitors, bar Alastor, were stunned when Serpent had spoken, as if surprised the boy knew how to speak even if both boys looked to be entering their adolescent years. The words he had spoken were filled with ire and tinged with anger, a mix of annoyance and anger showing on his face. The anger was real, but Serpent expressing it through his face and tone was false. He had also deemed calling the Lady Dementor 'Mother' in front of these people would have thrown off part of the affect he was hoping to cause.

Before Abbot could burst out with an angry retort Alastor replied, "Fine, we would just like to request a couple of Dementors to borrow." The assistant looked liked he'd rather be on the other side of the planet, and gave a relieved noise when Alastor did his job for him.

Frustrating Abbot further, the Dementor's heir stayed silent as Serpent spoke again, the older boy still not giving the visitors any acknowledgement of their presence. "And what exactly will you do with these Dementors?" Now Serpent's tone was cautious, his expression showing a lack of trust in the visitors.

Unable to stand it any longer, Abbot burst from her seat. "Just give us the Dementor's already, you insufferable–" abruptly she stopped, Death having looked up from his work. There was a dark look in his eyes, and a striking cold had suddenly engulfed the room. Silently Abbot fell back into her seat, her face pale as she locked eyes with Death, the unintentional pun causing her to feel an added amount of fear instead of hilarity. Just as suddenly as it arrived, the cold left, Death returning to the paper he was writing on.

Pretending as if that last outburst had never occurred, Alastor answered the young boy's inquiry. "The British Ministry has recently captured a vampire and a werewolf in close proximity to the Wizarding Academy of the Dramatic Arts and wishes to eliminate them immediately."

"I believed both races were immortal, Alastor."

"To physical injury like cuts or disease, yes, but their souls are mortal, John."

"Bring the prisoners here." For the first time Death addressed the visitors. Steward Bones knew it was the Mistress who had decided on that solution, as she usually preferred to only communicate with Death in whatever way she communicated with him. The visitors didn't know that, but the two boys probably had fun twisting the circumstances to insult the visitors, testing their reactions. Prisoners were only as diverse with their emotions as a locked up person daily assaulted by a Dementor could be, after all.

Alastor nodded to the Dementor's heir and left the prison, wisely deciding not to argue when in the lair of powerful creatures and talking to their leader. Abbot and the assistant followed close behind, both silent and full of fear.

* * *

"**My lord**, there's an emergency!"

"What is it now, Willkins?" the vampire lord was quite done with his messenger's 'emergencies' which happened to range from fallen dishware to a ruined rose bush.

"Miss Julia has been captured by the Ministry!"

This proclamation almost went sailing over the lord's head until he registered just what had been reported. "Wait, my _niece_ Julia?" the messenger nodded, "By the British Ministry?" again, a nod. It was quite unusual for his niece to be caught so unaware she was unable to defend herself. However, he was pretty sure his niece was far from capable to escape the clutches of wizards. He needed to make sure of something else first, though. "Was anyone else captured?" even though he asked he was rather certain someone else was captured.

"Yes… it was Alpha Gaius' nephew, Rock Tail." That darn wolf and his family's spawn, causing nothing but trouble… How his niece could fall in love with a mutt was beyond him.

"Has something happened that has caused either of them incapable of rescuing themselves?" After all, both races were practically immortal. It was true that Werewolves were particularly weak to silver, but that only caused the pain to intensify and the wound twice as hard and long to heal. The couple should be able to escape unscathed. Unless…

"The Minister is planning to use Dementors, my lord." Damn.

"Has Gaius sent someone already?"

"Yes, he sent his heir to the Dementors' dwelling." Well then, if Gaius felt _his_ heir could handle the situation of coursehis _own_ heir was _past_ able to help.

"Son, come here." The request was spoken to the air, his son not in the room, but just a moment after the vampire had spoken his heir arrived in the room, having heard the request through the wind. Apparently his son had an affinity to the wind. Though most vampire lords had an affinity towards a certain skill, practice, or art, it was uncommon for the affinity to be directed toward the wild, untamed elements. No matter, it made his son special, and on top of his magical abilities it made his heir coveted. That was a pleasant bonus he loved shoving in others' faces.

Predictably his heir had a broom in his hand, the boy having a natural ability and love for flying on the magical object though he was unintentionally and obliviously showing off to the surrounding vampire community. "What is it, father?"

"Cousin Julia and her lover Rockwell," his son rolled his eyes at the deliberate contortion of the werewolf's name, "has been captured by the Ministry and is under the possible harm of losing their souls. "Your Uncle Gaius has already sent his son to Azkaban to negotiate with the Lady Dementor for Tockrell. I'm sending you to go negotiate for Julia's life."

"When do I leave, father?"

**

* * *

Seeing **the notorious Azkaban, the vampire heir flew down to the dark island and landed on an equally dark shore. Looming boulders surrounded part of the island, another bit of the shore consisting of steep cliffs and the last bit crashed with waves. Ignoring the stormy atmosphere the boy walked into the gigantic prison. Curiously none of the Dementors were anywhere he went, and he quickly found himself in a small chamber after following the werewolf's muddy footprints that told him the wolf had already arrived. In the chamber the wolf was sitting down in a comfortable looking armchair, a small table of snacks nearby. The snacks were mostly raw meat and the sight of blood caused his hunger to spike momentarily. Not soon after he entered the chamber another armchair appeared next to the wolf's chair, on the other side of the snack table. A small glass of what he knew was most likely blood appeared on the snack table and a man entered the room. Remembering his manners of Wizarding etiquette from his youth he sat down in the offered chair and sipped the offered drink, not caring where it came from.

"Welcome," said the mortal who had entered the room, "both of you, welcome to Azkaban. I am Steward Bones and my Mistress will be arriving soon." With that he promptly exited the room.

The silence that spawned from the steward's exit grew, and irritated the two heirs as both were used to living amidst their people. The werewolves were always loud in the respective dens of each pack, and the vampires were quieter yet not completely silent. Not able to take the silence any longer, turning to the werewolf the vampire asked, "How long have you been waiting here?"

"Not long, really. Why are you here?"

"Same reason as you; cousin got captured and now father sends his eleven-year-old to save the day."

"Hmm, my father hadn't told me Julia was captured as well."

"Your messenger probably didn't even tell him, seeing as our fathers have that love-hate friendship going on."

"That's true."

The two then lapsed into a calm silence, peacefully enjoying the other's presence after breaking through the previously tense atmosphere. Both knew each other well considering how close their fathers were, and were like each other's brothers. Their similar backgrounds also helped to solidify their friendship with each other. After being 'saved' by their fathers, the wolf in a literal sense and the vampire figuratively, they both were able to start living happier lives and gained an actual childhood to remember. However, both still reacted strongly to anything 'Light' or 'good' in the sense of the general mortal populace. Especially after living with 'Dark' creatures for three years the two's hatred of the mortal world's hypocritical justice dealers grew. Even now as their relatives were facing death due to their race their resolve to despise 'Light' wizards and 'Dark' hunters, suppressors, police, etc. strengthened.

As the silence began to stretch again, the steward returned to the room. "Forgive me for the wait, but now may I introduce to you my Mistress Lady Dementor and my lords Black Death and Serpent." Into the room glided the Lady Dementor and behind her walked two young boys who looked to be the same age as the werewolf and the vampire. The Lady Dementor was as splendid as rumored to be, with an almost ethereal grace to her movements, her pale face, and pure black lips and eyes. Following her were the two 'lords', both looking as if they could be brothers or cousins. The one the steward had pointed out as Black Death had medium-long black hair that reached the small of his back, a slightly long nose, and strikingly bright blue eyes that resembled a shattered mirror reflecting the sky. Death had the same pale skin as Serpent, who had equally black hair that was shoulder-length, an angled nose, and deep black eyes that didn't to seem to reflect anything they saw; a deep, dark, _nothingness_ that had settled in the middle of the boy's eyes.

The four that entered were quick to settle themselves. The steward stayed near one of the multiple exits, watching to make sure nothing untoward happened and to make sure he could replenish any of the snacks if they ran low. Across from the two heirs two similar chairs appeared; Death and Serpent silently slipping into a chair each. Behind them floated the Lady Dementor, obviously not needing anything to sit upon but air.

"Again, welcome," stated Serpent, "may I ask as to who you are and why you are here?"

Across the room, the werewolf nodded. "Of course; I am the heir to Alpha Gaius of the Western European werewolves." While mortals would normally state their given names, in the world of creatures it was custom to state your status first; given names were something that the owner withheld until he/she deemed someone could use it.

The vampire decided to cut in before the werewolf clarified their purpose for being there. "And I am the heir to Lord Akrim (A as in at, and krim rhymes with grim) of the Western European vampires."

Here the werewolf continued, "We are both here as each of us has a relative who was captured by the British Ministry. The Ministry is planning to use one of your children to kill our relatives and we request that you stop the execution."

Serpent nodded, not surprised in the least. "It had been expected that representatives of both races would arrive to negotiate the execution, but having the heirs themselves arrive was admittedly a surprise. Nonetheless, the Ministry's prisoners have already been ordered to be delivered here. However, that does not mean they will be immediately released."

If the statement had surprised or angered the heirs they didn't show any of it. Instead, the werewolf simply asked, "What do you want?"

Suddenly, the Lady Dementor's voice rang throughout the minds of all the beings in the room. "_Contact your fathers; this negotiation will deal with more than you young ones are allowed to barter with. Both know me well._" Everyone in the room turned to the floating Dementor in surprise; none of them had expected her to speak.

Knowing when not to argue, the two heirs nodded to her command and pulled out various items. The werewolf pulled out a pendant and the vampire summoned a dagger from the palm of his hand. On the wolf's pendant there was a piece of ivory shaped like a fang. Both heirs stood up and turned around, their backs to the others. Each of the two took their item and pricked their finger, pulling away the sharp object in a circle. A thin line of blood followed the path of each of the objects, forming a floating circle in the room. Black filled the circle and then a face appeared in each circle. Behind the werewolf was his father, Alpha Gaius, and behind the vampire was his father, Lord Akrim.

Lord Akrim was the first to speak. "Well hello, my Lady, my heir wasn't charming enough to convince you?"

"Forgive his rudeness, but I believe you know Krim's nature," Gaius cut in.

"Again with the nickname! I swear it's as if you're taking revenge for something!"

"It is only a nickname, Krim."

"I just _know_ that you want to call me Krim so you can call my son Crimson. What did I ever do to you?"

"Your son has a perfectly fine name."

"Says the one who gave it to him; don't you think a name like Ares is a little… boring? You didn't even give him a middle name!"

"It is a sophisticated name, unlike the one you placed upon _my_ son. His wolf name will always be Shadow Paws, but I still can hardly accept you giving my heir the mortal name of Krad Serum. How in the _world_ did you come up with such a name? And the werewolves are supposedly the barbaric ones…" the last bit was muttered but clearly heard by all the occupants of the room.

"Oh stop complaining. I mean, Krad likes his name! He wanted to have a new name but still sort of keep his old one."

"So you write 'dark' backwards and then rearrange the letters of his name?"

"_Exactly!_"

Just as the Alpha was about to retort, both heirs yelled, "Shut _up_, father!" Immediately both of the elder creatures quieted.

"The Lady Dementor would like to negotiate the situation with Julia and Rock Tail before they have to _die_," Krad's words held a tinge of slight irritation, though Ares was clearly trying to hold in his laughter at his father's antics. Truthfully both did like their names, and knew their fathers weren't really as upset as they made themselves out to be.

"Oh, right! So how about this; you let my niece Julia go, and then you can keep the mutt. We both gain something, right?"

Ares' eyes widened, not completely certain of Akrim's seriousness, exclaimed, "Father!"

"It's okay, Ares, their numbers are greater than ours anyway."

This time it was the Lady Dementor who cut in. "_None of your relatives shall die by the hands of my children. In return, I wanted to discuss the future._"

Gaius turned his attention to the floating creature, his eyes slightly widened in surprise. "My Lady, this is a surprise. What would time not yet spent matter to one who has been given all of time?"

"_I have chosen an heir, Alpha Gaius. You know what that means for me and my children. But that is not what I have called you for. Deep in the underground there is a powerful darkness stirring, soon to break free into the light._"

Losing his playful nature, Akrim gazed at the Lady Dementor calculatingly, as if trying to find her reasoning for bringing up the subject in her face. "We have heard of such darkness," the vampire claimed.

"_Then you will understand when I say this darkness will possibly revolutionize the magical community. At least, it will in Britain, whether or not this darkness is successful in its task._"

"What are you asking of us, then?" Gaius had a pretty good idea what the Dementor was asking, but wanted to make sure.

"_I would like to request that your heirs go out and see if this darkness will better the races or not._"

"Am I to assume that your heir and his companion will be joining them?"

"_Yes._"

Lord Akrim felt he should interrupt, "Wait, so you want our _kids_ to go out testing potential allies? Why them?"

"Father, I sometimes worry about your lack of intelligence… Obviously if this darkness is going to affect the magical community the main target will be the Wizarding community. If I am assuming correctly, all four of us are eleven," at the nods of Death and Serpent Ares continued, "and are thus now eligible to enter a magical school. Krad and I are the only magical ones of our kind who are this young. No other race would give up their children as they do not want to reveal their existence nor risk the death of one of their youth during their endangered status. I do not know why the Dementors will be offering their youth for this task of alliance, but it is not my place to pry. Which school is a tad obvious as one of Britain's magical schools is currently led by the symbol of all that is Light, though how is beyond me."

"_The little vampire is correct. Why my heir is going along will only be revealed if he so wishes it to be revealed. Everything else will be taken care of by my steward. Do either of you mind having my steward act as the legal guardian of your heirs?_"

In the circle of magic Gaius' image nodded. "That's understandable and I do not mind. Do you agree, Akrim?"

The vampire lord nodded in reply and then the group began mapping out the details of their plan.

* * *

"**Transfer** students, Albus?" the question was asked by a short man, possibly part dwarf, who was currently sitting at a large, square-shaped table. Along with the short man there were others sitting at the table. The man who was being addressed sat on the opposite side of the table. It was a staff meeting for the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all of its teachers gathered to discuss the upcoming school year. This year's meeting was supposed to be like every other staff meeting that had been held before the school year; an update on each teacher's developing syllabus and a collection of bets on how many students would be sorted into which teacher's house.

However, this meeting the Headmaster had announced there were going to be transfer students. They wouldn't be announced as transfer students to the student population, as they were going to be first years and just look like any other entering first year, but the professors were to be told in case the professor felt the need to change anything in their syllabus to accommodate a foreigner. Transfer students were simply those who had not been automatically recorded in Hogwarts' list of students. The list would usually write itself; magically knowing which magical child lived in the school's designated country even when the children moved recently. Other schools had their own designated areas as well, and more than one school could occupy a certain area. Then Hogwarts would magically write and send out the invitation letters out to the children it had written on its list. Transfer students were usually children who lived in a different area governed by a different school who decided not to attend the school of their area.

Transfer students were very rare, as most children who knew of magic were raised knowing of the school of their area and children who didn't know of magic only knowing about the school of their area. Teachers were sometimes troubled by transfer students as how they were raised in a different country of region may differ considerably from native students and as such may require a different style of teaching to cater to the student adequately. Some professors taught the same way for everyone, but teacher's like the short-possibly-dwarf man had a certain style of teaching for each year and house for his classes and was somewhat troubled by the sudden announcement so close to the start of the school year.

After a pause Albus replied, "Yes, Fillius, there will be first year transfer students this year. I apologize for informing you all so late, but I only just received news of the transfer."

"And who, may I ask, are these children that have been so fickle as to decide just a few weeks before term that they don't want to go to the school they've been assigned for since birth?" asked a man with a dark complexion and even darker hair. "I do not wish to have indecisive idiots in my defense class, Headmaster."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Slater!" exclaimed an obese man a few seats away, "The more the merrier, eh?"

"And you have no worries about indecisive students possibly harming themselves during your potions class?" asked a thin woman incredulously, "I agree with Mr. Slater."

Before a wide debate could spring to life, the Headmaster called for the teacher's attention. "These transfer students had only learned of their magical powers a few years ago, and were adopted by the Head of the Prince family. The Prince Head is still in hiding and sent his children with his steward, the previously missing John Bones. He has requested that no one bother Mr. Bones. It is safe to assume that the father wished for his children to choose a school of preference instead of being assigned one due to their childhood of being assigned places to live multiple times until they had been adopted." Seeing some of the looks on some of the teachers' faces, he continued, "Now this does not mean the students are muggleborn nor should that matter. All four were adopted by the pureblood Prince family anyway. They will be arriving with all of the other first years and will be sorted like all of the other first years. Any questions? Good. On to the class schedules…"

**

* * *

On the** night of September the first, the Great Hall doors of Hogwarts swung open, a crowd of eleven year olds streaming through. They walked into the hall, in between the two long, center tables of four that were in the hall. Other children were sitting at the four tables, each table dominated by certain color schemes. Two of the tables on the left of the children contained some of the more subtle and darker colors, and the children sitting at those tables were substantially quieter and more subdued than the children sitting at the two tables to the right. At those tables there were the brighter, more striking colors and children settling in very boisterously with great noise. Amongst all of the children, various conversations were taking place. In the center of the group of children who had entered the hall, a whispered discussion was taking place.

"Can you explain to me just _why_ our last name is Prince? It's practically screaming that we're heirs to someone!"

"Again, Ares, it's because that's Serpent's real last name and it's easier for us to remember _precisely_ because of its synonymous nature to the word 'heir'."

"But don't you think-"

"Quiet, you two, the Headmaster's going to speak."

As the Headmaster gave his welcome speech, the four 'transfer students' stood calmly in the center of nervous children. Serpent and Krad were standing in front of Death and Ares respectively. While one may assume there was some ulterior motive behind this stance, the reasoning was actually very simple. Krad and Serpent preferred to be in front and thus be shields to whatever was behind them, a quirk in their personality that resulted from their loyal, guardian-like natures. Also, Death and Ares preferred to be in the back, staying in the shadow of whatever was in front of them as their natures disliked light whether it was physical light or something as abstract as the lime light. They all 'shared' the same last name in the sense of Wizarding Britain's legal system, but they still had no idea in what order they would be called up for the sorting. Logically it would be Ares, Death, Krad, and then Serpent, but in each of their minds they were all wondering if the list would magically know their former names.

Near the middle of the sorting all four felt relief subtly fill them when the name "Prince, Ares" was called out. Some snickering was heard in the crowd of students, some gasps also mixed in. The snickering was from those who thought the sound of "Prince Ares" was funny; the gasps from those who knew the Prince line had gone into hiding during the first years of Grindlewald's reign.

A courteous pause followed the moment Ares placed the Sorting Hat upon his head like those before him. During the silence some people started whispering, losing interest in the sorting quickly especially as the sorting was about halfway done. Soon, the Sorting Hat opened its brim, yelling out the name of a House,

"Hufflepuff"

Accordingly Ares took off the hat and went to the named table.

Next, "Prince, Death" was called out, and the reaction was quieter than the one Ares received. Some children out in the crowd were muttering about the odd occurrence of a child being named 'Death' and some of the teachers were looking at Death in surprise when the said boy walked up to the Sorting Hat. Just like the vampire he sat down, placed the hat on his head, and sat still as the hat decided which House to place him in.

"Slytherin" was yelled out to the Hall, and only a few were surprised. Throughout the Hall whispers broke out in relation to the boy's name and House, many immediately proclaiming him as dangerous and firmly deciding to not associate themselves with him. Some were confused as to how two boys with the same last name looked so different and were put in practically opposite houses.

Then, "Prince, Krad" was called. Again, more mutterings and whispers over yet _another_ boy with the name of Prince, and wonder where he'd go. Some joked that there might be a Prince for each House, but were disappointed when "Hufflepuff" was again yelled out by the Sorting Hat.

Lastly, "Prince, Serpent" was called and in the minds of all the students in that Hall, and even most of the teachers, the boy's house was predicted to be Slytherin. The logic was sound; the boy's name, his uncanny resemblance to Death, the pattern the Princes seemed to be going through, and also the way Serpent glanced at Death just before placing the hat upon his head signaled to those in the Hall that this boy was definitely going to Slytherin.

They were not disappointed and "Slytherin" was called out by the Sorting Hat. Swiftly Serpent left the stool and sat next to Death, the pair almost looking like twins. A brief silence fell over the Great Hall, and the next name was called out. When the first word wasn't "Prince," the normal noise and lack thereof throughout the various parts of the Hall returned to the way it had been before the Prince children were sorted.

**

* * *

Several** pops and cracks were heard through the air, the scent of the ocean colliding with the scent of death. With the noises people appeared, shrouded in darkness with thick black cloaks encompassing their forms. Upon their faces were strikingly white masks that were smooth except for two holes for the eyes of the people to see through. Dozens of people turned to a hundred or so as more sudden sounds ripped through the roar of the ocean's waves and the rustling of many cloaks. No one spoke or moved after they appeared, all standing on a darkly colored sediment that may have been sand. An ongoing torrent of wind swept through the ranks of people, their cloaks somehow staying on their rigid forms and their hoods firmly placed around their masked faces. The only pieces of clothing that moved farther than a ripple were the sleeves of the cloaks, revealing arms ranging from extremely dark complexions to the lightest skin imaginable. Upon the left forearms of all those present was a tattoo; the image of a mortal skull embraced by a serpent, the same creature impaling itself through the skull's empty eye socket and through its jaws. White, black, and green made up the image, standing out amongst the otherwise bland, grayscale look of the mass of people.

Suddenly, a significantly louder pop than all the others occurred, urging all those gathered to fall to a knee. The blank masks faced the ground at their feet as a figure appeared before them. That figure exuded a powerful darkness none of them had met before. The new figure stood facing the crowd of people, an ominous atmosphere filling the air. Just like the other people this being was clothed in a thick black cloak, a hood up over its head. This person didn't wear a mask, though, striking red eyes gazing out from the darkness of the hood. The hood shifted as the figure raised its head, a voice erupting through the surrounding quiet.

"My followers," the voice wasn't all that loud, but held a commanding presence that firmly grasped the attention of all present, "we are here today to take back our people. People of the Dark; people whose views are parallel to ours that cannot stand the presence of abominations in our world… those are the people we are here to seize. Those people will add to our forces and help us rid our world of the vile creatures that _dare_ to call themselves magical when stagnant blood runs through their veins, threatening the future generations to be contaminated with non-magical filth. Our numbers were low to begin with, this world dominated by primitive beings that would destroy us with their clouded minds. Once those _things _discover our existence jealousy, greed, pride, even curiosity would overflow and transform into something dangerous. Preventing any of those beasts from being produced by our own kind will be the first step in achieving that goal. After today more people with the ancient and pure blood of those who contributed to the foundation of our world will be free to increase our numbers and bring our world back to its former glory. We _will _succeed. _Lord Voldemort_ will succeed." At the end of the speech no one spoke; a speechless awe and zealous vibe coming off the crowd in waves. Turning away from the mass of people, the Dark Lord took a step toward the grand fortress that was Azkaban.

Suddenly, a man appeared before the fortress' entrance, standing halfway between the prison and Lord Voldemort. He had opened his mouth to speak but didn't have the chance to say anything before a plethora of bright streaming lights came shooting towards him. Just before the harmful spells could reach the man, another figure appeared, holding up the edge of his cloak like a shield. Surprisingly the spells veered away from the cloak off into the distance. A male voice came from the figure's mouth and addressed the other man curtly, saying, "Leave; your presence is not required here." Immediately afterward the man disappeared, leaving the figure by himself.

Some of the masked people raised their wands to strike again but stopped when the Dark Lord raised his hand. One of their ranks stepped forward quickly, just shy of running. Kneeling down at the Dark Lord's side the person said, "Forgive me, my lord, but I know him. May I deal with this?" Luckily the dark wizard was feeling generous that day and didn't immediately kill the person, allowing him to address the new arrival. The person stood, addressing the figure from afar. "Serpent? What are you doing here?" the one who had spoken was masked, but his voice revealed him to be male and possibly not yet an adult. His voice indiscreetly said 'You're not supposed to be here; go away'.

Seemingly not getting the message the other person only inclined his head slightly, the action causing his hood to fall off. The person looked to be in his late teens, with long, slick black hair and equally dark eyes. "Is it not customary to come to the defense of one's steward, Mr. Malfoy?"

The named teen raised an eyebrow, the only indication of his emotions. It was quite odd for one's steward to be living in Azkaban, plus he found a tiny bit amusement in the fact that the other teen recognized him and didn't find it surprising to see him. Knowing he wouldn't get any other answer for his initial question, he settled for a different one. "Where is your Master?" Malfoy could practically _feel_ the curiosity that sprang to life behind him, especially from the dangerous being standing next to him.

"At school studying; I did not deem the situation to be serious enough to risk my Master getting anything less than perfect on his NEWTS tomorrow," the blonde knew Serpent was saying something else behind those words, and was quite certain it was insulting and purposefully to be seen as such. Predictably he felt tension flow through the air as some of the people behind him bristled in slight anger. He left his thoughts as the dark haired boy continued, "May I ask why you are here with such _hostile_ people?" the word was spoken with only a minor emphasis, but the emphasis was there.

"My…" after thinking for a moment Malfoy decided to speak in terms the other would best understand, "Master, would like to have some of the prisoners that are kept here."

Serpent glanced at the Dark Lord, but the other gave the boy no acknowledgement. "For what purpose?"

"To punish those who are ruining the Wizarding world, those without proper magic running through their veins," was the blonde's reply.

Slowly the dark-eyed teen smiled, reaching into the inside of his cloak and pulling out a wand. Again, the crowd of hooded figures prepared to strike but this time it was the blonde who stopped them, looking at them with barely concealed annoyance. Serpent conjured a piece of parchment, holding it out to the Malfoy heir. Taking out his own wand Malfoy spelled the names of the prisoners to appear on the parchment. The parchment was rolled up and, with a snap of Serpent's fingers, disappeared. Almost instantaneously a loud rasping sound rang out through the air and large groups of Dementors flew out of Azkaban and into the sky. The entrance to the fortress opened and out came dozens of people, looking like they just visited Hell. When those gathered turned to where Serpent had been they found the dark haired boy had disappeared.

"_Crucio_" the word was hissed in a language none present could understand but the effect was obvious. A shot of red light hit the Malfoy heir and his screams ripped through the air. Once released from his punishment the Dark Lord hissed in English, "I demand an explanation"

**

* * *

Several** pops and cracks were heard through the air, the scent of decaying foliage colliding with the scent of blood. The atmosphere was as silent and dark as the forest surrounding the rapidly arriving mass of people. Hooded figures appeared in the outer rim of a small clearing in the midst of tall trees forming a circle. A mutilated corpse was lying in the center of the growing circle and was the center of attention. Whispers threatened to break out over the sight but the immense fear of the consequences of speaking out of turn overruled the urge, holding voices captive. The only defining feature that could be discerned from the destroyed body was the black hair lying in disarray at one end of the mass of flesh. At the back of one side of the circle two figures dared to whisper.

"And _why_ are we here again?" whispered one of the two, the voice laced with anger.

"To watch," replied the other, as if the answer was obvious, "don't worry; it'll be fun,"

"Oh of course," sarcastically remarked the first, "the decimated pile of flesh is _certainly_ an indication of _just_ how much fun it'll be,"

The second scoffed, "you can't _possibly_ tell me the sight doesn't excite you in the slightest,"

"I'd rather not have us make a spectacle of ourselves by running over and devouring the thing, Ares," golden eyes glinted dangerously in the darkness, filled with frustration. Deep in the background if one was looking for it they could see the hunger just waiting to burst free. The canine soul of the werewolf was begging the human soul to let it free; allow it to feast on fresh flesh.

The vampire smirked back at his childhood friend and sort of cousin, "Well then its good we know how to control ourselves, isn't it, Krad?" in his dark red, almost black, eyes was also a growing hunger, reined in by years of tolerance. A vampire's hunger was released if blood was spilt only until the vampire reached maturity, about a decade after being turned, and so was easier to control. This natural part of a vampire's first few years also helped the vampire to build up control over his hunger. Ares was just a year away from reaching maturity and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep hold of his hunger, especially when near his 'preference'. All vampires each had a 'preference', or a certain type of blood that was practically _irresistible_ to the vampire. Only decades of control could contain the beast's hunger if the creature was past maturity. Before maturity there wasn't too much of a risk for the vampire to lose control, so they didn't have to worry that much though it was still hard to control the hunger. In Ares' case he had delightfully discovered his preference was Light wizards who had tainted their soul with the act of killing another human being.

Before the werewolf could reply to Ares the atmosphere of the room changed; the last person had arrived.

**

* * *

In the** middle of the circle, standing by the dead body was the Dark Lord, the Lord Voldemort that was striking fear in the hearts of everyone witch and wizard in Britain. His power was suffocating all who opposed him and his reign seemed to be perfect. However, his enemies were starting to seek help from the magical creatures in Britain. Though they were the same creatures the Light had scorned previously, and obviously not going to likely become allies, the Dark Lord still felt uncertain and threatened. Thus the powerful wizard was desperate, though he would never admit it, to have the creatures on his side. If they refused then he would just force them to choose him or death. The other magical races were too unpredictable and dangerous to leave alone at this point of his developing reign. He had not informed anyone of his newest resolution, to seek out the beasts of magic, but even if telling someone might help him it would just be _intolerable_ for _anyone_ to know the Dark Lord could not find them. That wouldn't do at all.

Looking around at the people standing around him the Dark Lord was satisfied. Tonight was an initiation ceremony for those who recently graduated from various magical schools throughout the United Kingdom. Each initiation ceremony held more and more people, many realizing that the Dark would win this fight; not the Light. What pleased him more was the growing number of youth wishing to join his cause. Joining so young gave the Dark Lord more years to influence them, to mould them into perfect followers and warriors for his forces. Sadly there were still those who had that thing called a _conscience_, causing some of his followers to become traitors.

Seeing he had everyone's attention, Lord Voldemort began to speak, "Welcome, welcome all of you. You are the youth of this nation, and thus the future of this nation. You are here tonight to join a cause, a cause that aims to purify this nation of the filth that threatens to ruin it. As the future of this nation you are providing the first essential step to cleaning this nation, no, this world. All around you are those that should never have been here; those that, due to the inadequacy of the generations before you, have been given the opportunity to corrupt everyone and everything they come in contact with. You know who I am talking about as that is why you are here. I am talking about the mass of non-magical beasts that have invaded our world with the permission of even worse people; traitors. Those traitors of magical heritage have opened the gates and flooded our world of people who will destroy us. Non-magical people that contort bloodlines, resulting in the mutilation of our genes and create multiple hereditary diseases that will punish future generations for their idiotic mistakes. It's disgusting and it cannot be tolerated any longer. The last line has been crossed with this insane notion of actually revealing our world to more of those beasts out there. You cannot imagine the chaos that would erupt if that occurs. Those pieces of filth won't see us as humans gifted with power; they will see us as abnormalities in their ignorantly perfect world. We will be attacked; we will be hunted down and subjected to multiple horrors history should never repeat. This should not and will not happen with your help. Are you with me?"

In response to the question a unanimous cheer rose from the gathered people, the sound roaring through the dark forest. Raising his hand the Dark Lord quieted the now excited group, bringing their attention back to the corpse on the ground. "No doubt you have all noticed the mass of flesh at my feet. This here is a warning to all who bare even the slightest inkling of a thought to betraying this cause. The human at my feet used to be one of my followers but he decided to become a traitor and almost caused the deaths of many of his former comrades. Of course that could not be tolerated and he was appropriately punished not by my hands but by the hands of the people he had betrayed," the Dark Lord took a moment to look at the people gathered in the circle, looking into their eyes. He did not notice a pair of golden eyes nor did he see the pair of dark red eyes as both had hidden behind people. "It seems," Lord Voldemort continued, "that we have yet another traitor amongst us tonight," without warning the Dark Lord waved his hand, a person flying from the circle to the forest floor right on top of the still wet corpse, the smell starting to grow.

Immediately the person who was brought forward tried to defend himself, but the Dark Lord had silenced him. "Don't even try to speak," Voldemort said, "I will know when you're lying and the filth that would spout from your throat would only anger me into killing you myself," a deep glare was sent towards the figure on the ground. "You think I wouldn't know you were sent by that old fool Dumbledore? Don't make me laugh."

Despite his predicament the person continued to try to speak, panicking, fighting against the magical bonds constricting his voice. Hands were clawing at the flesh of the man's throat, as if he could physically remove the silencing spell. Soon the nails of his fingers broke through the skin and blood seeped out. The moment the first drop began to trail down the person's neck a scuffle erupted at the far edge of the gathering. Angry whispers and labored breathing could be heard from the scuffle and soon everyone's attention was on the conflict, people parting so that Voldemort could see what was going on.

"What is going on?" questioned the Dark Lord. He could see that two people were involved in the conflict, one of the two seeming to, oddly, be restraining the other. The one being restrained was trying to break free towards the still panicking person in the center of the circle, dark eyes seeming to glow a deep red.

The one restraining the other looked at the Dark Lord with golden eyes, "I'm sorry, it's just-"

"Release him,"

For a split second the golden eyed figure smirked, but only slightly and the Dark Lord believed he was the only one who noticed. The dark eyed figure was released and in a burst of supernatural speed he was upon the person on the ground. The hood of the dark eyed figure had fallen back with the movement, revealing black hair and contrastingly pale skin. Standing right in front of the pale figure, the Dark Lord could see that the dark eyes of the person were closed, his mouth clamped on the traitor's neck. Not long after he had pounced on the traitor the pale figure let go, another corpse joining the mutilated one underneath. Standing, the figure wiped his mouth. A small, dark smile stretched the bloodstained lips, the point of a fang slipping out with the word "thanks".

The other figure had walked up behind the vampire while he had been feeding and tore off one of the traitor's fingers. Nonchalantly chewing the torn appendage he asked, "You full now?"

"Never, Krad," at the mention of the name some of the people in the circle gasped, "You should know that, wolf," the last word caused more gasps, noise erupting when the two disappeared, fading away into the shadows.

Whispers of "the _Hufflepuffs?_" and "was that really them?" and "_that_ Krad and Ares?" soon filled the air.

The Dark Lord was annoyed; no he was pissed. A werewolf and vampire were here, right under his nose, and they had just disappeared. He got rid of the bodies at his feet and then brought one of the whispering figures forward. "Who were they?" he interrogated, letting his anger seep into his eyes, making them flash dangerously.

The person he had dragged forward was shaking with nerves. Stuttering, the person answered, "They're Krad and Ares; they went to Hogwarts and are the adopted sons of the Lord of the Prince bloodline. There are two others, Death and Serpent, who are their adopted brothers. Death and Serpent were sorted into Slytherin and Krad and Ares were sorted into Hufflepuff. All four of them are smart but never really act like brothers. Serpent treats Death like a god and Krad and Ares never talk to them or anyone else, only to each other."

Stopping the boy from babbling further, the Dark Lord asked, "Were you aware one was a werewolf and the other a vampire?" The boy stuttered a negative response and the Dark Lord took a moment to think. He recognized the names Death and Serpent from what the Malfoy child had told him earlier that day, but the blonde had not mentioned their foster father or their adopted siblings. From the earlier report he knew that Serpent called Death 'Master', guarding him with the strength and loyalty of a trained bodyguard, and the two had some sort of power over Azkaban, Death seeming to be half Dementor himself. Now he had discovered they had brothers, one werewolf and one vampire. Something was going on and Voldemort _despised_ not knowing everything. "Do you know anything else?"

"Everyone calls them the Dark Marauders," the boy supplied weakly.

"The _Dark_ _Marauders_… **perfect**."


	2. Serpent's Son

**Plot Bunny #2**

Serpent's Son

_Summary:_ Harry isn't James' son, and the father comes to take what's his.

* * *

It was Halloween, and Lily could feel that something was going to happen tonight. Sitting at her vanity desk, she laid out a piece of parchment in front of her. Harry was in the nursery just down the hall, James watching the marvelous muggle TV Lily had gotten him. Their Silence enveloped her room, and yet noise filled her ears. A million thoughts clouded her mind and, dipping a quill into ink, she began to write her letter.

_Dear Remus,_

_How have you been, friend? It's been ages since I last saw you and worry for you. Everyone's been depressed since James kicked you out of the house, not even giving a thought towards letting you know where we are. Peter has already told you and I hope he doesn't meet James' wrath either for it. _

_This is all my fault, isn't? __If I had never_Lily crossed out the last words and continued writing. _You would have been the Secret Keeper for sure if James hadn't found out. We both know that Sirius was too obvious and poor Peter won't stand a chance against the Death Eaters. Now James doesn't want anything to do with you, even going so far as ripping you out of every picture. I'm so sorry Remus! _ A tear fell from Lily's eyes and wet part of the parchment.

_There's something else I have to tell you too. Harry isn't James' son. James would be devastated if he ever found out. He loves Harry so much, already thinking up little nicknames for him and planning to teach him all the Marauder ways. I love little Harry too, and truly, I have come to love James as well. At the same time I don't want to lie to Harry, and I don't want James to live a lie either._

_How can I tell him? How could I ever tell him whose son Harry is? He's still upset at me since the time you got kicked out of the Marauders. I won't ask you to tell him for me, Remus, but I fear I might not ever get the chance to tell him myself. If,_ here Lily paused, _if I'm not alive at the end of the week, please, tell him for me._

_~Lily Evans Potter_

Folding up the letter she went to her owl, a beautiful red owl James had gotten for her as a wedding gift, and sent it off into the night. A few more tears flowed from her deep, emerald eyes, darkened with guilt, worry, and despair. Outside the window her owl had just flown from, she saw a flurry of robes in the front lawn. She ran to the doorway of her room to warn James. Suddenly, the voice of her husband rang through the house, "Lily, it's him! Take Harry and run!"

Hoping James could hold his own, Lily ran to the nursery where Harry was. Her beautiful baby boy was fast asleep in his cradle and calmly opened his eyes when she ran into the room. The child was such a peaceful child, never crying during the night. Whenever the sun went down it was like Harry would change, quieting down and usually falling asleep when the stars came out. Lily smiled at her child and prayed to whoever was listening to at least spare her child from the Dark Lord who was now roaming through her house.

A crash was heard from downstairs and Lily knew James was no longer alive. An uncontrollable wave of grief struck her and a sob escaped her lips. Putting her thin hand to her mouth she held onto Harry's crib for support. Tears flowed down her face freely, and she almost didn't hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. As the footsteps got louder Lily snapped out of her trance and quickly took out her wand.

She closed the door, using her extensive talent with Charms to lock it to the best of her ability. Various shielding charms were put on it as well, along with some explosive charms that would go off if anyone went through the door. Turning around to Harry she put shielding charms on the crib as well, also writing the strongest protection rune she knew on it. The door then exploded, a tall figure storming through. Piercing red eyes glared at her from under the hood of a dark robe, and Lily knew she was facing the Dark Lord.

"Stand aside, girl," hissed Lord Voldemort. This truly surprised Lily, and she stood there, speechless, for a moment. The Dark Lord, feared by all, especially muggles and muggleborns like her, wasn't just going to blast her out of the way?

Hearing a rustle of a blanket behind her, the red haired witch remembered why the Dark Lord was here. "No! You're not going to hurt my baby!"

Voldemort only repeated himself in reply, "Stand aside, girl," this time raising his wand.

"Take me instead, you monster! Don't hurt Harry!" She regretted insulting the Dark wizard immediately after saying what she did, but knew she couldn't take it back. Dying would be worth it if it would save Harry's life.

The glare in Voldemort's eyes only intensified, and he spoke the two fatal words, "Avada Kedavra". The spell flew across the nursery and hit Lily square in the chest. As she fell she could feel the life flowing out of her body, her last thought wishing Harry would survive. Her body lay in front of Harry's crib, limp and lifeless. A simple levitation charm moved Lily's body to the side, and Voldemort stepped up to the crib.

Harry lay in the crib, still half asleep. The baby was oblivious to everything that had just happened, not knowing he was now an orphan. He was alone in the world, and at the mercy of one of the darkest men of all time. Voldemort pointed his wand at the baby, and repeated the words he used to get rid of Lily. "Avada Kedavra". The green light sped towards the baby, landing above Harry's right green eye, the colors almost identical. Then, an even brighter light surrounded the crib, shooting out towards the Dark Lord. This unexpected turn of events caught the Dark Lord by surprise and he was unable to block the light in time. An inhuman scream erupted from the Dark Lord and a wispy fog of magic sped from the black robes of Voldemort out the door of the nursery.

The spirit of Voldemort sped outside beyond the Dark Lord's control and flew past another dark figure. This person stopped walking, frozen in his spot, recognizing the look of a corporeal form. Waking from his stupor the robed man ran into Godric's Hollow, Lily's home, a sheet of parchment clutched in his hand. The man didn't even spare a glance at James' form, seeing red hair through the nursery's doorway. Panic and dread encompassed the man, and it seemed like the world around him had frozen as he flew up the stairs. All of his energy left him when he reached the nursery. The recognizable robes of the Dark Lord lay in a pile in front of Harry's crib, the corpse of Lily just next to them. Kneeling down next to the dead witch, tears fell from the man's eyes, wetting Lily's fiery red hair.

Then, a small noise was heard. The rustling of a blanket came from the crib. Standing so fast he almost got a head rush, the robed figure inspected the baby. Harry was perfectly fine except for a small squiggly shaped scar above his right eye. It greatly resembled a snake and for a second the man swore it had moved. Picking up the baby, the man smiled down at the infant. Another noise behind him made the man whip around, almost dropping the baby. A vase had fallen, a rat darting down the stairs.

Using quick reflexes, a wand was pulled out and stunned the rat. Reversing the Animagus transformation, a short chubby man was standing in place of the rat. Reviving the man but then immobilizing him, the robed man glared at the smaller figure. "I will never forgive you for causing Lily's death, rat. You will rue the day you even thought of this betrayal. Imperio," the unforgivable curse hit the small man and his eyes clouded over. "You will wait for the authorities or Dumbledore to arrive and confess everything you've done. Afterwards you will tell them the Dark Lord is still alive, though weakened, and tell them Harry Potter has died."

Even under the Imperious curse, the small man struggled to speak. The robed man disabled the immobilizing curse, confident the Imperious had worked. As he left the room with the baby, the small man ground out, "You… won't get away… with this… Lucius Malfoy".


	3. His Pet Phoenix

Plot Bunny #3

His Pet Phoenix

_Summary: _Harry runs away from the Dursleys and Neville gets a mysterious pet phoenix while the Wizarding World tries to deal with losing its savior.

* * *

**Pain** filled his world, and he didn't know if he could take it anymore. Whenever the slightest thing went wrong such as a dish being dropped, his cousin's grades falling, if even the weather wasn't perfect, severe punishment was dealt to him. He didn't know why. It had always been that way, so he supposed it was always going to be that way. Every day he was beaten, every day abused in a never ending continuation of torture; only giving him a few hours each night to rest. Each day he thought the pain would lessen from the repetitive abuse, but it didn't. Each day he wondered if he would die from the pain, but he didn't. Today was just another day of pain.

"Freak," bellowed the familiar, deep, enraged voice, "I just know you made that thunderstorm ruin my meeting with the Minister! This family could've been living in luxury from now on but that blasted storm came at the right moment to throw my car keys into the Minister's face! It's entirely your fault, I know it!" He had long ago lost the will to argue with the violent man, and laid there as each blow connected with a part of his broken form. "You little… freak!" Another blow hit him, this time his leg, the last blow hitting his arm. His arm once again became a target for the large man standing above him, and the resulting crack only encouraged an even harder beating for his legs. "This is what you deserve, freak!"

Freak was repeated to him every day, the only thing he was ever addressed as other than some other derogatory term he didn't know the meaning to. Never was he told his name, nor did he know if he even had one. He once found a letter that he _knew_ was about him, but was unable to read it as the letter was snatched from him and thrown into cold, unfeeling embers. As the flames had eaten away at the paper his last hope of some semblance of an identity had disappeared. After the paper had turned to ash he was given a beating that had surpassed any he had had to endure before. Any urge to discover who he was had been tortured, tormented, and suppressed to such a miniscule part of his mind he had forgotten it was ever there. He snapped out of his train of thought as a strong blow impacted against his right temple, next to a scar he didn't even know he had.

Suddenly, flames similar to the ones that had charred his hope erupted in front of him, and he soon saw nothing.

**

* * *

It had** been five years, five years since the disappearance of Harry Potter. The Wizarding world searched and searched, but no one could find their savior. Three years after he had gone missing, everyone believed the Potter boy dead, even if no one would voice those terrible thoughts. No one knew what had happened; couldn't even guess. After Voldemort's defeat the army of Death Eaters had scattered. Many were caught, some even turning themselves in. There were those who escaped the clutches of the authorities but no attacks had been executed since their Master was defeated. Not even one attack.

This sudden event of the savior's disappearance baffled the Wizarding population and the blame was spread out throughout the magical community. Most blamed renegade Death Eaters, forming their last bit of revenge for their Master. Others simply blamed purebloods as a whole, the Dark ones avenging the Dark Lord and the Light ones for envying the child's glory. A few even blamed Dumbledore, after it had been revealed where the Boy-Who-Lived was left to be raised.

It was now the year Harry Potter was supposed to start Hogwarts, and those joining Hogwarts had to join one of the greatest magical schools with a depressing atmosphere greeting them. Joining the community of Wizarding scholars wasn't as exciting as it would have been, and there was little anticipation in the eyes of the children. The normally bustling and noisy platform for the train to Hogwarts was uncharacteristically subdued. The upperclassmen had been affected, many apathetic towards a new year of learning and a new generation of students joining the school. Most of the eleven year olds weren't happy at joining Hogwarts that year, all except for one.

Neville Longbottom was ecstatic at joining Hogwarts, and was oblivious to what had been going on recently. He lived in the outskirts of Britain, far from most of the news circulating the magical world. Confidence emanated from him, and those around him were either disbelieving of such a cheerful personality amongst so much depression, or were affected by his contagious happiness. His trunk was proudly dragged behind him, the young wizard loving the atmosphere of the magical world. It was his first time seeing so many witches and wizards, and the diversity astounded and delighted him. There were tall and short people, light and dark skinned people, big and small people, a whole variety of people he had never seen before. Excitement filled his veins, and his hand instinctively went to the cage attached to his trunk, petting the bird inside the covered cage.

Augusta Longbottom smiled at her grandson, proud of him. The boy was shorter than average, but was able to maintain average weight. In his younger years the boy had been like his father, a bit on the rounder side, but the boy had been able to grow out of it. Especially because of his bird, that lovely animal that had changed her grandson's life, enabling her grandson to have a fun and happy childhood. For the first few years of Neville's life the old witch thought him a Squib, but now she knew her grandson would grow up to be the best wizard he could be. She cherished her grandson now, and could still remember the day both Neville's and her life had changed…

* * *

"_**Grandma**__, please let me down! I'm scared! I… I don't like heights!" proclaimed the high pitched voice of a child. Up in the boughs of a tall oak tree was a six year old boy, holding onto a thick branch as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the living world. In a way, it was, as the boy was chubby and did not have an inherent sense of balance. Below the branch were only thin sticks poking out of the tree and would never be able to catch the boy if he fell. A little less than fifty feet separated him from the ground and the branch he was clinging to. The branch was beginning to bend with the unnatural weight of a human on it, and was already shaking with the movement of the trembling boy. That tree wasn't meant for a kid to be holding onto for dear life and it was straining not to have its limb break off._

_Nearby was a mansion, not a huge castle but clearly not an ordinary house. It had two stories, and even from outside you could tell there were more than a few rooms on each floor. Standing on a balcony connected to the second floor was an old woman, the 'Grandma' the child was addressing. A frown marred her face, and the wrinkles adorning her withered face revealed that the frown was a frequent expression for her. Out of her mouth came negative words that matched her expression, "Get yourself down! You're the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville! If there's an ounce of magic in you I know you can do this," her angry tone shifted into a disappointed tone, as she tried to convince herself that her grandson was not a Squib. There had never been a Squib in the Longbottom line and the line was long. Having her son and lovely daughter-in-law insane had already ground out most of her positive emotions, her grandson starting to turn out as a Squib not helping at all. She was losing her ability to care for her grandson like she used to._

_Then, a cracking noise was heard and the branch was no longer able to hold Neville up. A sharp yell of surprise erupted from the boy's mouth and an emotion Neville's grandmother hadn't felt for a long time overwhelmed her; fear. The boy was falling quickly and the witch had left her wand in her bedroom on the first floor. She was obviously in no condition or position to physically go and catch her grandson and regretted putting him in the tree. Memories came back to her of all the other horrible things she had done to the poor boy to try and force some magic out of him. Various risky things had been attempted, some she couldn't comprehend why she had tried them in the first place. Guilt flooded her senses as time seemed to slow down, her aged eyes watching Neville fall inch by inch, each second passing by as the ground got closer and closer._

_Suddenly, just before the boy hit the ground, a bright light and a flash of flames surrounded him. The flames disappeared, but a small dome of light encompassed the area where Neville had landed on the ground. Panic and worry now filled the old lady and she went downstairs as fast as she could at her age. When she reached the yard the light had left her grandson and what she saw astounded her._

_There lying on the ground was her grandson Neville, perfectly fine after falling about fifty feet. The boy had landed on his back and on his stomach was a pile of ashes. A small chirp erupted from the ashes and stunned Augusta Longbottom, Neville's grandmother, into another bout of shock. A tiny bird's head poked out of the small pile of ashes and had a tiny zigzag mark on its head. Bright green eyes peered from the baby bird's head and when its eyes met Augusta's it was as if the bird could see right into her soul. No words could explain the elderly witch's feelings at that moment. Her grandson's life had been saved by a phoenix, and it had caused the bird to go through the process of a burning day. She didn't know what this could mean, and told herself to remember to ask Albus Dumbledore about it later, the only other known owner/friend of a phoenix._

_A groan escaped the body of her grandson and Augusta snapped out of her shock. She ran inside the house, getting her wand, and levitating her son to the couch inside their living room. Thousands of thoughts were running through the old grandmother's mind. It didn't seem correct to floo or apparate her grandson to St. Mungo's as she didn't know how this would affect the phoenix. Having a St. Mungo's healer come here didn't seem right either as word would spread that her son was saved by a phoenix and she would never have a day's peace. Making up her mind Augusta decided to solve two problems at the same time by contacting Dumbledore. He would know what to do about the phoenix and was trustworthy enough to keep a secret._

_Frank and Alice dying had caused many people to mourn, but since the same night had been the night the Boy-Who-Lived gained his glory no one came to give their condolences. Barely anyone showed up at the funeral as it was forgotten among the celebrations of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat. It was at that time Augusta didn't want anything to do with the rest of the world, telling herself her son and daughter's sacrifice and her grandson were just as important if not more so than that of the Potter's and the Boy-Who-Lived. She didn't want anyone suddenly showing up at her house, suddenly caring about her family. Dumbledore was one of the few who did not attend celebrations of the Dark Lord's defeat, and had actually attended and given a speech for Frank and Alice's funeral. People slighting her family so had been one of the reasons why she pushed Neville to show some magic, to prove he was powerful and important too, that the Longbottoms were worth being cared about._

_Throwing some powder into the fire she contacted Dumbledore and he quickly arrived throw the Floo system. He examined Neville, and had a twinkle in his eyes when he told her, "Your grandson is very lucky, Mrs. Longbottom. Young Neville now has a phoenix for a familiar."_


	4. History Museum of the Guardians

**Plot Bunny #4**

History Museum of the Guardians

_Summary: _This is the History Museum of the Guardians who helped defeat the Dark Forces of the Second War. A mother and her child visit for the first time, trying to unlock a mystery that has lasted for ten years.

* * *

"Look, Mommy! We're here! We're here!" a little voice cries out, trying to run up the rest of the walkway to the door. One of the child's small hands was clutching his mother's hand attempting to drag her to the building. Bright, innocent eyes were alight with excitement at the site of the grand museum. The letters on the sign above the doorway glittered in the sunlight, spelling 'History Museum of the Guardians' while the walls themselves shined with a supernatural light. It was an impressive sight along with the steady flow of other people also entering the building.

As they entered the building the crowd of people divided into three groups. Most of the people drifted to the War Hall where paintings, photographs, recorded interviews and other memorabilia related to the Second War were on display. Some of the adults and the elderly were veterans of the war, wanting to remember and relive those violent and harsh times to keep the memory alive. Others were people who wanted to know more about the climatic event that shaped their lives and humanity's future. A majority of the children and teens flocked to the Simulation Rooms, eagerly rushing to the various game rooms. Each child could choose a Guardian they wanted to be and could pretend that they were one of the heroes that saved the Wizarding World. Slashing through enemies or protecting innocents, they could temporarily pretend that they were someone everyone knew, loved, and remembered. The parent with her child didn't go to either of these places, choosing to go to the Hall of Guardians. Inside were relics of the Second War, the various weapons and items left behind by the Guardians at the end of the war, the only things the populace had left of the Guardians to remember them by.

Walking into the Hall of Guardians, the child spared a moment to glance back at the multitude of children chatting joyously as they walked towards the Simulation Rooms. There were few people in the Hall of Guardians, all of the items inside having lost their glamour years ago. Everyone in the Wizarding World had heard of the weapons, read books and news articles having been published about them multiple times over the years, and had seen various pieces of artwork that had been dedicated to each of the items just as many times. Recently, most people preferred the moving pictures reenacting various battles from the war, or the recorded speeches from before and after the war, or the simulation rooms where you could be in the battle.

For the mother and her child this was their first time going to the museum. Many people had told them of the glamour of the War Hall or the excitement of the Simulation Rooms, but they were here for the Hall of the Guardians. "Mommy," the child whispered, aware that a soft voice was required in a museum, "why are we at this place instead of the other ones; everyone says that the other ones are better."

The mother smiled down at her child. "I know, honey, and I'll let you go to the fun rooms later. Don't you remember, though? I was going to let you find out who your father is today."

A voice deep inside her mind whispering, "_I'll come back, my love, I promise._"

"I remember now! You said he was a Guardian, right, mommy?" the child's eyes had brightened once again with excitement, easily forgetting about the game rooms.

"Yes, but you have to guess which one, ok?"

"Ok…"

All of the items were individually displayed on two rows of ivory columns, a curtained doorway at the end of the Hall. Atop of each was a black velvet pillow surrounded by a bubble of magic that prevented any harm to happen to any of the items. Some had wider columns to accommodate their size, while most had columns of the same size. Light blue rays of magic kept viewers a foot away from each object, an invisible wall also erected to ensure no one accidentally knocked down anything. Overall the Hall was elegant but simple, nothing adorning its walls and no fancy carpeting.

The first item was a whistle. It had a simple, thin metal chain attached to it. Most people didn't know what the whistle was made out of, but dragon tamers identified the material as the scale of a dragon. Many jewelers were envious of whoever had made the whistle, as nothing had been ever made of dragon scales except for clothing. This was due to the fact that with clothing one did not have to change the natural shape of the scales. The whistle was shaped like a mini dragon head, its muzzle open in a way that one could imagine fire spewing out. Two smaller holes were where the eyes would have been. Small rainbows appeared when light hit the whistle at different angles and it always sparkled magnificently.

"Mommy, what was this used for? It doesn't look like it'd do much in a battle…"

"This wasn't used to fight, dear. It was used to call upon a dragon."

"A dragon? Cool!"

The woman smiled down at her child, sadly remembering the fall of this Guardian.

_A sharp__ ring was heard across the battlefield and many warriors, friends and foes alike, cringed at the sound. Roaring as she arrived a dark red dragon flew over the fighting, heeding her call. Torrents of fire sprang from her mouth, taking down dozens of enemies that were too slow to shield themselves. Hair as red as the dragon's flames whipped around the face of the man who had blown the whistle, the man fighting off enemy after enemy while awaiting his companion. His hair reached the small of his back, and his eyes were dark with the intent to kill. Soon he was swooped up by his dragon and he attacked from the sky with her._

"Yes, a dragon. Rumors say that the dragon was his lover cursed into the form of the beast. They rarely spent time away from each other. It took thousands of the enemy soldiers to take them down."

_And yet, they were the first to die…_

They moved on, having spent enough time gazing at the whistle. The next item was simpler than the last, but just as special. It was a scythe that was around five feet long with a c-shaped blade at the end. The blade itself was three feet long, and made of ice. Both pieces contrasted each other, the pole a dark black and the icy blade white as snow.

"Why isn't the blade melting, Mommy?"

"It's magical. It can also turn into a blade of fire, but was found in its ice form."

_Through__the throngs of Dark Warriors, Death Eaters along with Dark Creatures, a lithe figure ran, killing tens of enemies in seconds. First there was a slash of ice, and then instantaneously it turned into a burning flame, burning the next. Soon hundreds of warriors surrounded the figure and it was trapped. A gush of wind blew back the hood of the figure's long black cloak and beautiful feminine face was revealed. Bright red eyes glared at those around her, stark white hair threatening to fly out of her cloak. Spinning her scythe it switched from fire to ice and back to fire continuously until one of the warriors sprang out towards her. She fought hard and long, taking down many as the hundreds began to swarm her._

An hour later she was the next of the Guardians to fall.

Leaving her memories, the woman realized her child had already moved on to the next item. She walked over to her child, amused at the confusion etched on the small face. "What's wrong, dear?"

The little one turned, still wearing an expression of complete confusion, "Why is this one just a plain old hammer?"

"It's a little big for a plain hammer, but either way this was all that was needed. The Guardian that used this weapon was very strong and didn't need anything fancy."

**_A crowd of_**_warriors ran at the Light side, weapons gleaming in the moonlight and lusting for blood. Suddenly, three of them fall. Others then continue to fall and some are left confused until they themselves fall to the floor in pain. As more of the enemy fell a short bulky person is revealed, swinging a mighty hammer at any in his way. Bones crushed and shattered whenever his hammer hit someone. He never moved his feet too quickly but his arms swung his weapon with surprising speed. There was an advantage to his height that most did not see him before he struck, but a few archers had joined the Dark. After he had taken down a couple hundred of warriors, an arrow struck him in the shoulder, quickly followed by dozens more._

And thus is how he became the next Guardian to fall.

"Oh, I get it. He sounds like a Dwarf."

"He might have been, but no one really knew much about the Guardians. They were a very secretive group of people that protected villages from raids and joined the Final Battle when the Dark Lord called in a surprise group of reinforcements. Other than those times, no one ever saw the Guardians or knew what they did."

"Didn't they have families, Mommy? Like father?"

"The Guardians weren't allowed to love, dear. They believed it was a weakness, except for your father. I didn't even know he was a Guardian until right before the Final Battle."

_It was dark**.**__ Like every other time they met each other. The first time she had met him was on the way home, a group of thugs had tried to assault her and he had saved her. Ever since then she walked home the same way and they met each other at the same spot, their relationship slowly growing from there. They would simply talk in the darkness as they strolled along, conversing about everything and nothing at the same time. She doubted he knew what she looked like and she didn't know what he looked like. She doubted that either of them cared. One night, however, the night before the Final Battle, they decided to take their relationship one step further. They didn't know if they would ever see each other again, and needed something that they could use to share how deeply they wanted each other to survive, to be there after the war, to know just how much they loved the other in a way words could not describe._

_As he had gotten up to leave the next morning, she glimpsed his face. It was so long ago she couldn't remember the details anymore. Except, on his neck was a bold G with two swords crossed in an X behind it. A symbol many villagers claimed to have seen on the Guardians who had saved them from the Death Eaters of the Dark Army. Many associated the symbol with the Guardians and made merchandise with the symbol adorning some part of them. Another tattoo was spread across his chest, a black stallion with fire at its hooves as it ran across his skin._

"_You're a Guardian?"_

_The question needn't have been asked; he had seen her gaze lock on his neck. The answer was equally unnecessary, but both needed to hear the words._

"…_Yes, I thought it was safer that you didn't know. Don't worry. I'll come back, my love, I promise."_

"What's that?"

Again, as she was lost in thought, her child had sped over to the next item without her. He was now staring with wide eyes at two blades. They weren't designed like normal blades in that they were curved like an L. Each the blades had a dull hooked tip as if something would be tied there. The hilts, or handles, of each blade were longer than a normal blade. On the bottoms of each hilt was a latch of some sort that made it look like the two blades could connect together. A string was also coiled in a small coil between the two blades.

"The two blades belonged to a pair of twins. When put together the blades turned into a bow with bladed edges. The dull hooks are for that string to tie onto without getting cut."

"Then where are the arrows?"

"The arrows that they used were made out of their magic."

_Back to back__ the two brothers fought, looking like mirror images of the other. If enemies tried to charge in between them the twins knew which of them would go to the right and which would go to the left without even saying anything to the other. As their enemies tried to back away from them to get them to step away from each other they combined their blades into a bladed bow. One of the twins held off enemies with martial arts while the other produced arrows made of magic, shooting all those in the distance. Their efforts weren't enough, though. Enemies kept coming and coming, and one of the twins eventually ran out of magic, the other running out of breath._

Two green flashes ended the lives of two more Guardians.

This time she let her child gaze at the two blades, moving on to the next glass box. On top of the ivory column was the same black pillow that adorned each pillar. In the center was a small indent where an even smaller piece of wood lay. The sight of it caused a sad smile to form upon her lips, memories flashing by right behind her thoughts. Such a tiny object revealed so much about this Guardian's personality, and it was unfortunate that the accompanying glove that was supposed to lie next to the small item had been lost in the Second War's carnage. Without looking, she could tell her child had moved on from the twin blades, now inspecting the small sliver of wood innocently resting upon the black velvet. She could sense the immense curiosity rolling off her little one, knowing that if she looked there would be an abundance of confusion in those small, bright eyes.

"This is a wand, used to control magic,"

"I know what wand does, Mommy! Why is it so small?"

"So it could be easily hidden within a glove, fooling enemies to believe the Guardian could wield wandless magic; a feat only very few have ever achieved in the history of magic."

"Sounds like a show off…"

She quietly laughed at the mumbled words.

_Gloved hands__ moved in flowing arcs, like a conductor orchestrating a symphony to amaze the masses. Streams of light flew from the moving hands, striking countless warriors to their deaths. Weapons floated and fought as if of their own free will, shields blocked and parried, wind rushed, water crashed, anything and everything within the conductor's sight was utilized as efficiently as possible surrounded by warriors, demons, creatures, and more. A smirk lit the face of the Guardian, seeing the partially concealed awe of his enemies at his display of prowess, only an illusion of cunning he had mastered long ago. Dancing through the battlefield with his flowing hands, he was caught wholly unaware as a tower of flames suddenly shot up around him. Eating at the oxygen surrounding him, charring his clothes, his hair, his skin, the blazing inferno soon consumed him without even touching him. A soldier swore he saw the Guardian sadly smile, mouthing "I'm sorry…" right before the flames concealed him._

Miraculously at the bottom of the pile of ash, previously one of the grand Guardians, a few silk threads had survived while wrapped around the tiny wand.

"Come, let's see the next one."

Reminded of the other items on display the young child excitedly hurried to the next column, almost yanking on her hand. Curiosity had once again lit up the child's eyes, wondering what other wonders could be left to see. However, the little one had to tip-toe to glance the next item. Against the dark and soft material of the pillow, the item had slightly sunken down, the coloring causing further concealment. The correct tense would be items as more than one object adorned the velvet. A few small bottles lay on their sides on top of the pillow, cracks and chips covering parts of them. Next to the bottles, arrayed like an oriental fan, were long, thin pieces of metal, sharpened at one end. Throughout the group of needles, many cast off various colors when the light shined in just the right angle; some blue, some green, some yellow, some … some a variety of colors.

Surprisingly, no questions were asked about this set of items. At her little one's age it wasn't too surprising if the purpose of these items was guessed. A set of needles, a group of flasks… "What do you think these were for honey?" she asked, wondering what answer would be given. Bouts of intelligence were adorable when spoken through the young voice of a child and it would delight her to no end to hear such an action demonstrated by her own offspring.

For a small while her young one was flustered, obviously not wanting to say something completely incorrect. "Well…" began the child, "I _think_ the bottles were for good and bad stuff that you drink, like what you gave me to make me feel better when I was sick, and the pointy things could give you the stuff, 'specially for the bad stuff as it'd hurt but sometimes it hurts for a good reason like when I was sick the other time and…"

Before her child could ramble on further she cupped her child's face with both of her hands, a happy smile on her face. "You're so smart, I knew you knew the answer," as she complimented her little one, the child's face shined with the abundance of pleasure from her words. Touching her forehead to the considerably smaller one, they smiled at each other silently for a time before laughing.

_Years of built__ up tolerance saved the Guardian as he spread poisonous powders into the air surrounding him. Carefully held breath also contributed to allowing the deadly air around him to be ineffective, except to his enemies who were currently choking on their own air, tearing out their own eyes, or dying in some other gruesome fashion. Through the enemy's plight with fighting the air they breathed, others farther away dropped dead finding themselves impaled with a torturously long needle in random places. Even those who dodged died if damaged with any other type of open wound caused by one of the needles. The Guardian's movements were stealthy and quick, untrained eyes having great difficulty tracking when he threw the needles, when he uncapped a bottle of powders or liquid, when he dodged attacks, and whether or not he was actually moving at all._

_Then, a voice called out a name, the Guardian whipping around to see a figure stumble to the ground nearby. Rushing to the figure, worry clouded the Guardian's eyes, tearing out various bottles and needles and feeding them to the fallen warrior or poking the warrior in various acupuncture points. Allies soon surrounded the two on the ground, determined to not allow anyone to disrupt the Guardian from healing someone. Taking in deep breaths, the Guardian calmed the frantic movements previously encompassing the mind. Steadily and methodically more bottles were fed to the fallen figure, more needles poked in various places combined with whispered enchantments. However, nothing seemed to be working, the figure slowly beginning to close its eyes. An almost frustrated worry overcame the Guardian, searching throughout various other bottles and needles and thoughts as to what could help the life not be lost._

_A flash of movement, shock overwhelming pale features, deep black eyes darkening further as a barely whispered "why…?" escaped parted lips…_

The next Guardian fallen by once cherished hands.

Most of the warriors fighting around the two had left them unwatched, and were surprised when both had perished. Many claimed to see the betrayal, others claimed the figure died, the Guardian dying of a broken heart, but it was common knowledge the Guardians were supposed to contain sealed hearts and no one voiced their arguments for long. Countless novels had been written based upon this fantasized love story, but only two knew the truth. Both carried the secret to their graves in each other's arms.

Walking further down the Hall only two columns were left for the mother and her child to view. Two more items left to unravel; two more memories left to explore. As they reached the second to last column, a tiny voice spoke out.

"Mommy, I don't want to guess anymore…"

"Why not, honey?"

Waving a thin arm in the direction of the other items, the child complained, "There's too many! All of them are different too, and cool, but…"

Suddenly, she understood, but still asked, "What's wrong?"

Sheepishly, her child looked away and explained, "I really _really_ want to know who my father is, but what if I choose the wrong one? What if he'll be sad that I couldn't tell which Guardian he was?" Sniffles came from her child, and she lifted up the small face to look directly into the sad eyes of her offspring.

"He wouldn't be sad if you were wrong, honey. Don't worry, though, I'll tell you later, okay?"

Wiping away almost fallen tears, the small child nodded.

Lightly resting on the black pillow were two deep blue feathers. Seeing her child turn to her, she answered the unspoken question, "These two feathers were the only things that were found of this Guardian. The say this Guardian had wings like an angel." Awe clearly showed on the child's face, turning back to look at the two innocent feathers. They looked so soft, and were almost as long as the child's arm. At the edges of the feathers there were tiny bits of light blue specs almost too small to see.

_High above__ the battleground, another series of battles raged on. Winged demons, furies, griffons, thestrals, hippogriffs, phoenixes even, any type of creature that could fly was up in the air supporting either the Light or the Dark Forces. Any sort of middle ground didn't exist in the minds of the animals; there was the side that would provide salvation for their kind and the side that wouldn't. It was no longer a matter of could or couldn't anymore either. In the midst of the Light Forces was one human, adorned with massive wings sprouting from the hips. The deep blue contrasted greatly to the considerably lighter skin of the Guardian. Using a language that could be understood but not heard he led the Flight Forces (dubbed so comically) and added his own might through magic spells and shields._

_The two forces of the air were evenly matched, neither side winning or losing over the other. Equal amounts of allies were lost as the war raged on, though both forces maintained the bulk of their respective armies. Any side could have won, any side could have lost, but both could not tell who would end up soaring the skies and who would end up grounded in death. Neither group of creatures lost sight of the ground, though, keeping close watch on which of the land forces was winning and which would lose. Paying partial attention could have been the cause for the aerial battles to not be as fatal and fierce as the land battles, but without the land battles the creatures had no reason to fight._

_Unexpectedly, the leader of the Flight Forces shot towards the ground, deep blue wings fighting to force his body faster with each stroke._

The winged Guardian was never seen again, except for the two feathers found in the aftermath. Blood had been found nearby, but the entire battlefield had been soaked with the substance.

Slowly and silently, the two first-time visitors approached the last column. This column was blocked by a curtain of dark red silk. The doorway itself was similar to the rest of the Hall, elegantly simple with a black threshold decorated with a simple white vine design. Magically the crimson material moved out of the way for the mother and her child, revealing the last ivory column and black velvet pillow.

The pillow was empty.

Behind the column was a platinum plaque hung on the back wall. In deep gold lettering it read,

This column is a testament to the greatest Guardian of them all. Leader of the strongest witches and wizards in the entirety of the history of Magic itself, this Guardian provided the pivotal power needed to defeat the Dark during the Wizarding World's weakest eras. Silently supporting the Light from the shadows, the Guardians provided protection, care, and hope to beings across the globe, whether they are magical, muggle, creature, or something else entirely. All was done opposing the Dark and their evil, vicious, and unmerciful ways. While each Guardian contributed a unique aspect of strength to the Guardians, this particular Guardian gave all of them the strength of connectedness, purpose, and integral respect. It is to this author's regret that no weapon, article of clothing, or any other sign of this Guardians existence survived the Second War other than the memory of those who persevered and made it out of the carnage. That memory is what will keep this Guardian alive in our hearts along with each and every other Guardian that sacrificed their lives for the plight of the unjustly suffering people throughout the world. No other being in existence will ever equal the presence of this remarkable individual and the companions that stood by this Guardian's side.

_[No sign of death ever found; if any sign of existence is found please contact the current head authority immediately]_

After reading the plaque out to her child, she stood there staring at the empty pillow, wondering if anything they could have ever found would justly represent the leader of the Guardians. She didn't believe anything in existence could appropriately symbolize the figure that saved the world, not just humanity but everyone and everything else as well. Even after ten years the aftereffects of the Second War still hadn't gone away, magic only beginning to return to the land of the Final Battle. No one completely remembers how the war ended anymore, and mysteriously no record of the Second War's end survived. What society did know was that it left the land of the Final Battle magic-less, no magic able to be performed there, taken there, none _existed_ there after the Battle ended. The Dark Forces had been annihilated, the aerial forces, all having been creatures of at least some intelligence, surrendering soon after. It had taken years, but society had rebuilt itself. Even so, nothing was the same as before the Second War.

Taking her child's hand, she walked out of the secluded room, passing by each relic of the War. At the end of the Hall she turned back, gazing at the rows of ivory columns, and left the Hall of Guardians.

"Mommy…"

"Yes, dear?"

"You never told me who my father was,"

"Sweetie, that's because…" her voice trailed off, thoughts swirling in her mind. A deep sadness enveloped her, and she resisted the urge to look back once again at the Hall of Guardians. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Smiling softly, she looked down at her child, holding back tears. Traitorously, a tiny tear just escaped one of her eyes, small enough so that only she knew it had fallen. Kneeling down on the ground she was still taller than her child and looked down at the bundle of innocence she had given birth to. Opening her slightly shaking lips, she said, "It's because…"

Predictably, the young one looked up expectantly, countless questions in those small, sweet a barely audible whisper, she answered her child's questioning gaze…

"_I never knew."_


	5. Half Blood Princes

Plot Bunny # 5

Half Blood Princes

_Summary: _Believing the world to only be darkness, a young Harry is surprised when someone saves him. He's even more surprised when he's thrown back in time. A true world of darkness is born, ruled by the Half Blood Princes.

* * *

It was dark; very dark, and very cold. These were the daily thoughts a young boy had running through his mind every day. Every day, for as long as he could remember, he was locked in a cupboard. Food was only given to him once a week and he had long ago learned to save as much as he could each day to last the week. Darkness enveloped his life, and he couldn't remember what the rest of the world looked like. If he ever knew, that is…

His name was lost to him. He was only addressed as 'Freak' or 'Boy' whenever he made too much noise. It was the only semblance of a name he had. To him, his name was 'Freak Boy' or 'Boy Freak'. The ones who lived in the outside world were Petunia, Vernon and Dudley. Their names were the only other names he knew.

A sudden 'thump', 'thump', 'thump' over the boy's head woke him up. Ebony black hair shook as dust fell from the closet ceiling, dirtying his already messy hair. Green eyes slowly opened, unnaturally pale hands rubbing away dust. Thin fingers reached blindly in the pitch black confines, firmly grasping even thinner arms. A huge cloth, a shirt if he remembered correctly, covered his tiny frame, the only thing he had ever been given other than food.

As the time passed by, the boy's eyes easily adjusted to the dark he had always seen. His green eyes gained a slight gleam to them. With practiced ease he counted how many companions he had at the time. Tiny multi-legged creatures, speeders or spy-doors or something, commonly shared the cupboard with the boy. This time there were five of them. There were actually more, but it was the highest number he could count to. It was a routine for every time he woke up, not knowing the existence of night, day, or how much time had passed.

Then, voices destroyed the silence in the boy's world. Vernon was talking, but the other voice was unrecognizable. The voices stayed close, and even got louder, confusing the boy. Whenever a stranger's voice came close, one of the outsiders, Petunia, Vernon, or Dudley, would draw the voice away, far away from Freak Boy. No one could ever find out about the Freak Boy, the outsiders wouldn't let them.

With his slow, disjointed knowledge, the boy tried to understand what was being said. "… get rid of the Freak." That was Vernon's voice, the boy recalled. Piecing together the words he understood, it seemed like he might leave this small place. Fear and excitement crept up into him. He couldn't remember the outside, and didn't know if he really wanted to try and survive out there. At the same time, however, he had a lingering curiosity and urge to see the outside, to try to escape, that never left him.

The stranger's voice now erupted through the silence. "I understand sir, but-"

"He'll kill us!" Now this surprised the boy. Vernon was saying that he could somehow hurt the outsiders. He didn't even remember what they looked like! And whatever 'kill' meant, he knew it was something _very_ bad and the boy couldn't see how he could do anything to them. Maybe that was why Vernon was suddenly talking about letting him leave this tiny place. Vernon thought he was something bad!

Interrupting his thoughts, the boy heard the other voice speak again. "I assure you, he can't do anything to you that I can't." Now most of that sentence was a complete mystery to the boy. Something about him not being able to do something and the stranger not being able to do something was all he got out of it. "I can't!" Was a common phrase he heard from the Dudley outsider.

"You- You're… you're one of them!" This was another surprising moment in the boy's life. He had never before heard Vernon talk with pauses, or repeated sounds or anything not in an ordinary sentence. The words were also spoken with an odd tone to them, and he didn't know that that was his first time hearing fear.

Now, the silence had returned, and it seemed like a longer silence than the boy had ever heard. It stretched on and on, the boy waiting for the stranger to speak again, if he ever would.

"No," the stranger whispered, "I'm different." The voice was right outside, and the boy's heart started to beat quickly as fear , curiosity, wonder, and many other things he could not name sprang up inside of him.

For the first time he could remember, the boy watched as the door was opened. It was unexpectedly dark outside of the cupboard, though much lighter than he was used to. Green eyes squinted as he sat inside the cupboard frozen still, unsure of what to do. Looking ahead, a gloved hand was reaching out to him, connected to a robed arm, and a hooded face. Through the darkness of the hood the boy could easily see deep green eyes that were unknowingly the exact same shade as his own. All of his fear began to ebb away as an odd sense of familiarity ran through the boy, still gazing into those green eyes.

The hooded stranger stuck out another gloved hand. "Come out," it wasn't a request, but the words were soft-spoken. He reached out his small pale hands towards the gloved ones instinctively. Once they reached the gloved hands they held on tightly, hoping this wasn't a dream. Slowly, he was pulled forward, and his unused feet stumbled as they left the cupboard. He didn't fall, the stranger firmly supporting him.

Finally 'outside', the boy quickly took in everything around him. Everything was so alien to him, so unfamiliar and strange. Looking down at himself, he didn't recognize his own hands or feet. Scanning the stranger, he looked at the gloved hands and wondered if they were the same as his. Above the glove there was something drawn on the stranger's arm, but the whole image was covered by the stranger's sleeve. The boy's own arms were plain and thin.

Suddenly a startled noise came from the right. The voice was Vernon's, and the boy was finally able to connect the voice with a face. The man was a lot larger than the stranger, especially around the middle. Another thing that was different was that Vernon had a huge _thing_ wrapped around him. '_Master Rath, may I eat him?'_ asked the thing. It had an 'ess'… _ness_ to its voice the boy had never heard before.

'_No, Nagini, just hold him still.'_ The stranger's voice suddenly sounded like the thing's voice, then switched back. "Aren't you mad at him?" It took a moment for the boy to realize the stranger was talking to him.

Hearing the words and piecing together their meanings, the boy looked up at the stranger, confused, still being supported by those thin gloved hands. Then, the stranger started to speak to him again, this time in a softer voice.

"Don't you feel something towards him?" the stranger whispered, "All the days you were left without food, the days you were clothed by darkness, each hour you spent alone, each minute forgotten, unwanted, unloved? Every little second you spent wondering why you had to live your life when you could hear the joyful life right outside your door, the laughter, the pure happiness seeping through the cracks of your cage. Can't you hear your heart's anger and grief at being so mistreated? Can't you feel your soul crying out for justice?"

With each whispered word it was like something was flowing into the boy's mind through the stranger's voice. An indescribable feeling came over the boy, and he stopped trying to understand the stranger's words. The meaning was clear without having to know what each word meant. Looking from the stranger to Vernon, the boy instinctively held his hand out. The reflexive action stunned the boy for a moment before the stranger put his own gloved hand on top of his. "Let you feelings flow," said the stranger, and the boy let loose the feeling that was already fighting to come out.

A strange light shot from the boy's hand and hit Vernon. The thing that was wrapped around the huge man quickly let go as Vernon began to scream. After a while the screams stopped, and Vernon was no longer the huge mass he was. On the floor a dark stream of liquid flowed toward the boy. Watching as it reached his feet; the boy knelt down and touched it.

The boy didn't get to inspect the liquid, however, as someone burst through the door. Bright lights flashed through the darkness outside and noise rushed through the doorway. Screams not unlike the ones Vernon was emitting earlier could be heard, and the boy watched as another robed figure entered the house.

The new stranger had rushed into the house but was now frozen in shock. "Rath, who-?" a gloved hand wildly gestured at where Vernon used to be.

"Not now, Sev, let's go."

The boy was picked up and taken outside of the house. He saw many other robed people walking around and other people lying on the ground or running away. When the stranger stepped outside of the house all of the robed people stopped what they were doing and turned towards them. Then, they all started to approach them. Another knew feeling enveloped the boy, it made his heart race and he couldn't think clearly. He buried his face into the green-eyed stranger's chest and clutched the dark robes tightly. Soon, it was hard to breathe; the new emotion was drowning him. Then, everything went black.

Opening his eyes, the boy looked around him. It was still dark, but something was across from him. It hung on the wall, and there were people moving inside of it. The unknown object was a painting, and three boys were sitting in it. All three had black hair and dark robes on. The one on the far left had deep red eyes that pierced the very air. His hair reached the ground but was tied behind his head in a ponytail. Next to him was another boy, this one similar to the first stranger. This one had the same dark emerald eyes, and his hair shot out above his head at odd angles. Finally, the third boy had jet black eyes, filled with a seemingly permanent glare. The hair on the last boy was smooth and reached his shoulders. On the bottom of the painting were the letters,

TOM, RATH, & SEV


	6. Wrong, All Wrong

**Wrong, All Wrong**

_Summary: _He _knew _he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived... He _knew. _Why wouldn't anyone listen to him?

Slowly opening my eyes, I could hear voices outside my bedroom door.

"James, he's asleep. Leave him be."

"But", suddenly my father's voice quieted to a whisper. How did I get here? Last I remember I was in the library…

I could hear the voices of my parents talking, but I couldn't quite catch the words. Then my father's voice rose in volume, "My son _has_ to like Quidditch!" My father almost sounded as if he were a child protesting that 'Santa Claus _is _real!' and I could just imagine the pout that was probably placed upon his face.

I stifled my laughter to hear my mother's reply. "Quiet down, James! Why can't you understand that he has _both _of our genes?"

"Yeah, Prongs, you should get the idea that Lily's genes took over, especially after we found him sleeping in the library. That kid's pretty heavy for a nine year old," Uncle Remus was here!

I leapt out of bed, throwing the door open. Normally I would've been horrified to see that I had thrown the door right into my father's face, but I was more concerned with hugging my uncle to death. "Uncle Remus!"

Rich laughter flowed into my ears, "Hey Pup, you're awake then?"

"Hey!" I turned, just then noticing my father leaning against a wall with his hand over his face. Uncle Remus' laughed again, seeing my mortified face.

"It's okay, Pup," my uncle said, "I'll protect you," the laughter in the hallway spread as Uncle Remus ran away from my father, still carrying me in his arms.

My mother was not as amused. "Remus, James! Don't give us another reason to take my child to the hospital today!" That's right, I had an appointment today. I never liked those, all the Healers fussing over who got to examine me. Being a famous 'Savior' got annoying at times. Oh, I almost forgot!

I tried to get out of my uncle's arms so I could get back to the library. I needed to get back to that book! Once I had broken free I started to run off to the library.

"Whoa there, kiddo," my father said. "We need to take you to your appointment now," why did my father have to want to be on time today of all days? Seeing my pout, he said "I know you don't like them, but we need to make sure everything's okay with your scar. You remember what we told you, right?"

I nodded, looking down at my feet, "An evil dark person wanted to hurt me but only gave me the scar on my face before disappearing, right?" What a load of bull. I may only be nine, but I'd have to be half-mad not to know a fairy tale when I heard one. Evil people didn't just 'disappear' or father wouldn't have a job. What's more, I remember that night. I remember _everything_, down to the little purple butterfly sticker that was on the window of our nursery room that night. That reminded me, brother…! Screw the appointment; I needed to get back to the library!

Before I could do anything, my father had scooped me up and whisked me off to the hospital. This was one of the few times I despised my parents. The lying, attention-mongering, prejudiced… I should stop before my thoughts actually turn into words. We were already at the infamous St. Mungo's. With every step my father took I steeled myself for the inevitable encounter ahead of me.

My Uncle Remus opened the door, letting mother in before my father walked through with me in his arms. Three, two, one-

"Oh my **GOSH**! It's Aster Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived!" I swear, if that banshee could screech any louder my young ears would burst.

I quickly hid my face, clutching my father with my head in the crook of his neck. It was a worthless effort as people swarmed us anyway. It took a full half hour and a plethora of Healers to wade through the growing crowd and save my family from their grasps. We were led to my usual check-up room, fifth door on the right down the second hallway of the seventh floor…

"_Mommy?" We were walking along the second hallway of the seventh floor._

"_Yes dear?" I was only six, so my mother towered over me. Even so, she didn't seem intimidating at all, never having to command my attention or obedience. It was that kind, cheerful, and proud smile that drove me to make her happy. It was the loss of that smile that made me fear what was ahead. If only I hadn't…_

"_Why are we here?" my voice shook with my growing fear. "Is it because I asked about-"_

_My mother quickly stopped me, "No, it's okay." She never interrupted me, "It's just a little check-up, that's all. The scar the evil man gave you might still hurt you and your father and I want to make sure it won't, okay?"_

"_Okay…" I could see the nervousness in her eyes, like what I saw in father's eyes whenever he tried to lie to mother about a surprise. My mother was lying to me._

_After a few more steps in silence and I couldn't help but break it. "Mommy?"_

"_Yes dear?"_

_I wondered if she had intentionally replied with the same phrase. "Do I have a brother?"_

_Silence again. My mother almost stopped walking but kept moving, trying to act as if she hadn't been shocked. The silence stretched so long, I opened my mouth to say something else when she answered me._

"… _No. You're an only child, little one. Do you want a sibling?" I could almost feel her nervousness now, and it just barely tinged her voice._

_Shaking my head, I replied, "No, Mommy, I was just wondering…"_

Just remembering that instance angered me. She and my father probably knew I wanted to go back to the library and dragged me here just to torment me. What kind of parents lie about their own children? I _know_ I have a brother and I _will_ find him. I'm _so close_ to finding him…

We reached the room, and shut ourselves away from the celebrity-obsessed masses. Mother had been so upset to hear me say that once, knowing I had gotten the phrase from father. She didn't want her child growing up learning the immature terms and phrases my father tended to sprout on a daily basis. I knew she wasn't _truly_ upset, but it was still quite a sight to see my father cower at the hands of my angered mother.

As usual, I was placed upon a comfy chair while my parents left the room to wait outside. Something about 'patient privacy' preventing even parents to watch over a patient's check-up once they reached a certain age. It was one of those useless rules that existed in the world. Oh well, I was actually glad for it once I found out Healer's were under oath not to intentionally harm their patients unless for healing purposes. It kept my parents from embarrassing me by telling the Healer useless little stories about my life. I really did _not_ think the Healer needed to know if I had peed in my bed the other night.

Which I didn't.

Anyway, the Healer entered the room, the same Healer I've had for the past three years. He looked like what most every kid imagined a Healer to look like. The man wore a white coat and glasses. His name was Mr. Pill, a name I used to laugh at until mother made me take a few. I was never more grateful for potions in my life. Swallowing something whole is an unsettling experience for a child. It is, really.

"Okay, kiddo," Mr. Pill began, drawing me away from my thoughts, "We're going to start some new tests today. It's to test things like your memory just to make sure you're developing like a normal kid, okay?" I nodded silently. Even after three years I was still a little shy around Mr. Pill.

"We'll start with the normal ones first. Reflexes okay, pulse okay, hearing, sight…" Mr. Pill went on, running through his various tests. I didn't really have to do anything; Mr. Pill would just wave his wand around and look at a piece of paper. Sometimes I'd have to hold a fake wand, one that tested whether or not I was still magical and other stuff.

Then, Mr. Pill brought out a few pictures. He showed me one and told me to try and memorize as much as I could about the picture. The next picture looked a lot like the other one with a few differences. I was told to pick out the differences, and I found all of them. It was sort of obvious to me, so I didn't really see why he even asked. I told him that. He just looked at me weird, and brought out a few more pairs. Again I found all of the differences.

I received another weird look. Geez, what was it with people and looking at me weird? Anyway, Mr. Pill brought out another picture for me to look at. Instead of pulling out another picture afterwards, he brought out a piece of paper and told me to try drawing the picture as best as I could. I didn't touch the quill he offered. I knew I would only make a mess. Mother, ever the muggleborn, had given me a pencil, eraser, and even a box of crayons to take wherever I went. Being the Boy-Who-Lived meant I would have to sit somewhere while the adults talked, so I was left to draw on my own all the time.

Soon enough I had finished drawing the picture. I could remember the picture exactly as I had seen it, so it was as simple as tracing and filling in the lines. At nine years old I could trace and color just fine.

Mr. Pill took one look at my drawing before rushing out of the room. Was my picture that bad that he ran away? I thought it was done pretty well. I took the drawing, determined to show my parents the wonders of my artistic ability.

"What do you mean, Mr. Pill?" the worry that filled my mother's voice stopped me in my tracks.

"He has a photographic memory, Ms. Potter. Your son can remember everything he sees in vivid detail, and will have this ability for the rest of his life." Now that was cool. I knew I had a good memory, but I didn't know it was special.

"He remembers _everything_, Mr. Pill?" my father sounded proud and afraid at the same time. Why? I thought it was something awesome to have…

My mother gasped, "You don't think he remembers–"

"No," Mr. Pill cut in, "he shouldn't remember that night. Don't worry. He was only an infant, right?" I guessed my parents nodded as he continued, "Photographic memories don't tend to go back that far. While he _is_ the Boy-Who-Lived, I doubt he remembers that night."

The conversation continued but I wasn't paying attention anymore. I _did_ remember that night, but it was obvious no one was going to listen to me.

_With a bang the door to the nursery was blast open, mother falling unconscious as a block of wood smacked her in the head. She fell to the floor in a bundle of limbs and debris._

_I wanted to cry, but stopped as I saw someone enter the room. I couldn't see far enough yet to tell whether the figure was friend or foe. Instinctively I grabbed onto someone next to me. Looking over at the person it was as if I was looking in the mirror. I've seen baby pictures of myself before, and this baby next to me was like my carbon copy. He had the same green eyes, the same black hair, even the same little mole behind his left ear._

_A piercing laugh snatched my attention away from my copy. "Ah, the mudblood decided to die before I got here… pity." The cold, cruel voice sent shivers down my spine just remembering it. Equally cruel red eyes turned their attention on us babies. "The little Potter twins, how pleased I am to see you. They say you were born attached at the head, the separation leaving one more powerful than the other. Nonetheless, neither of you will be a threat to me soon enough," a hand lifted a wand into the air, "who shall I kill first?"_

_I felt tears fall out of my eyes, sobs on the brink of escaping my infant mouth. Looking over at my twin I saw a curious expression on his face._

_The other person must have seen the expression as well. Laughing he proclaimed, "You shall be first, child, for being fearless in the face of death." A hate-filled look overcame the person's face, "Avada Kedavra!"_

_The spell shot forward, colliding with my twin's face. Immediately I felt a sharp pain strike into my mind. Screams erupted from both me and my twin. I could feel something between us strain and panic set into me._

_Suddenly a wave of _something_ spread through the room, sending the other person to his knees. His screams joined ours until he erupted in a flash of light._

_I remember my vision warping as it filled with red. Looking over at my twin I barely had time to register that he now had one red eye before everything went black._

The door opened in front of me, startling me out of my memories. Mr. Pill was smiling down at me and I examined my reflection in his glasses. In the lenses I could see my right green eye and my left golden one, the mark that I was the Boy-Who-Lived. Small scars extended from the eye, making it look like a blazing sun.

Again, Mr. Pill jolted me out of my thoughts. "You can go home, now."

Yes! I can finally go back home! I eagerly ran out of the room, latching onto my mother's arm. She smiled down at me, a sad look in her eyes. In a moment she blinked the sadness away.

After being carried by Uncle Remus through the hordes of fans again I arrived home. I ran to the library, only halfway paying attention to my father and mother arguing over my genetic influences again.

Once I got inside the library I sped towards my table. It was smaller than the adult's table to accommodate for my size. Father was saddened and proud at the same time when I had been going to the library often enough to request my own table. I liked flying, I really did, but finding my brother was more important.

On my table was a book I had gotten from Uncle Remus two years ago. It was a wondrous piece of magic; it would only open for its owner, me. I told Uncle Remus it was for dreams, but that was a lie. Stashed between the pages were letters I had stolen from my mother. She had a habit of keeping a copy of her letters so it wasn't hard to steal the copies and leave the originals.

Using another feature of the magical book I looked for the word 'orphanage'. The book would go through all of the pages, even the ones that weren't _technically_ pages of the book, and find the word for me. Surprisingly mother didn't keep her letters in order, nor did she write the date, so I've had to go through dozens of pages looking for the right one. I knew I was close to finding my brother when she mentioned giving birth to twins in the last few letters I had read.

_Everything was black. I remembered falling off my broom… Had I died? Even though I was only six years old I knew what death was. I also knew it was something I didn't want to be right now. I felt fear and panic begin to rise within me._

_Suddenly, my eyes opened. The room wasn't mine. It was worn down and dirty. I doubted if house elves lived this poorly._

_It was when the body started to move on its own that I realized I was somewhere else. Was I dreaming? The person I inhabited moved across a cold floor. Reaching a mirror I looked into the reflection._

_A half-gold half-red gaze stared back at me._

'_Wha- what?' the boy exclaimed in his mind. I knew he was thinking it as I saw his mouth had not moved._

'_Um… hi…'_

_The eyes widened further. It was then that I noticed that this boy looked like a copy of me. This was my twin! The brother I remembered in my memories! He didn't have my 'Sun Scars' as fans called them, even with my golden eye. He did, however, have a straight scar slicing down the center of his right red eye. The cut seemed to have slit his pupil, making it look almost feline or snake-like. Some of the red from the iris also seemed to have sucked the red out of the whites of his eye, making the red around the pupil stand out even more. While my Sun Scars where short and many, his scar was long, extending from an inch or two above his eye down to just above his lips._

'_What are you doing in my head?' his twin demanded, now glaring at his own reflection._

_The angered voice shot down my excitement at having found my brother. 'Oh, um… I…'_

'_Hurry up!'_

'_If you wouldn't snap at me maybe I'd have time to reply!' Why was this other me so difficult to deal with?_

_Surprisingly, the boy smiled. I think father said that expression was something called a 'smirk'. 'That's better. I'd be ashamed to think someone had penetrated my mind with only half a heart.'_

'_What's pene… pene…'_

_His face fell. 'I see I was mistaken. I mean 'entered' my mind.'_

'_Oh! Well, I remembering falling… and then I woke up here…' I hoped this would be enough and that I wouldn't get yelled at again. It wasn't the best feeling in the world to have your long lost twin mad at you._

'_Hmm… Who are you?'_

'_I'm your twin!'_

_The boy's eyes narrowed angrily, 'While that would answer a few questions about you being in my mind, I find it rather hard to believe. Why would my dear twin brother decide to show up after six long years in my head?'_

'_I, I didn't _mean_ to…'_

'_Why in the world would I be in this god forsaken orphanage if I had a family!' my twin exclaimed. While he was obviously trying to hide it, I could see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Or eye, as the golden eye was mine… Whatever, this whole event was confusing me._

_Suddenly I felt my presence being pulled away. I didn't want to leave my twin in this state of mind. 'I'll prove it to you,' the words escaped me in a determined certainty I was surprised to feel. 'I'll find you, brother, and take you away from this place. I swear it!'_

Shaking away the memory, I read the latest letter. Going down the page, I noticed it was a letter to an 'Uncle Sirius'. I remembered him; I remembered him yelling at mother and father about something. Uncle Remus had taken me away before I could make sense of anything that was being said.

Paying more attention to reading I found my mother explaining to Uncle Sirius that someone named Dumbledore, what an odd name, had told mother and father that something was wrong with my brother. That whatever happened that night had changed him and that he couldn't be allowed to stay with me. That he was 'dark'…

Thinking back to when I saw my brother, I just knew he wasn't dark. Mother and father always told me that dark people were evil and that they were the ones who had tried to hurt me. My brother wouldn't hurt me. I knew it. So why did this Dumbledore and my parents think he would hurt me?

My thoughts have wandered again. Continuing my reading, I finally found what I was looking for:

_Oh, Sirius, I am so sorry. Dumbledore says it's for the best so James and I have to trust him. He knows better than we do. We couldn't see it in Peter and we only realized too late… It breaks my heart, but we have to do this. Dumbledore was going to choose for us but James and I decided that we would be the ones to do this. Harry can't go back to the magical world. For him as well as for everyone else, I don't want my son growing up and fighting his brother. I can't let it happen._

_Harry will be left at an orphanage called Unspoken Dreams in the British Isles._

Immediately I sped over to one of the shelves in the library, yanking down a book and throwing it open. I searched through the pages, 'Unspoken Dreams' repeating through my mind. The book was a list of workplaces, another one of mother's quirks as a muggleborn. She called it the 'Green Pages' for some reason. I found the orphanage and the exact island it was on.

Running over to my bedroom I noticed my parents were in the kitchen drinking with Uncle Remus. Thank goodness. When it was one of their drinking nights they wouldn't check up on me until the next morning.

Trying not to break anything in my hurry I found my broom. I thanked my father's wishes for me to be a future Quidditch star, as it gifted me with the latest broom on the market every year.

Rushing over to my desk I snatched a piece of parchment, Uncle Remus' latest project. I held the parchment and said "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," and smiled. It was an upgraded Marauder's Map. While my uncle still couldn't figure out how to change the password, he had been able to alter the map. This map was a Directions Map, one for if I ever got lost. All I had to do was tell the map an address or place and it would show me how to get there.

"Unspoken Dreams, Isle of Man, British Isles" I didn't quite understand why I had to say Isle of Man separately from British Isles as they were practically the same thing, but I didn't really care at the moment.

Opening my bedroom window I mounted my broom and took off. The map was positioned between my hands so I could see the arrow pointing in the direction I should go. How large the arrow was corresponded with the distance. I winced when the arrow was pretty big, but kept going.

'_It's taken me three years, brother, but I'm coming.'_


End file.
